The last week of the year feels extremely boring. Not a whining, restless child’s boredom but a foggy, carpeted malaise. Not only does it feel like there is nothing new, it feels like nothing new will ever be discovered again.
The things that usually bring us wonder or stir our blood—the frenzy of Wall Street, the majesty of the Vatican, the mysticism of the Pyramids, the erotica of Klimt paintings—now make us feel dull and underwhelmed. The spark of the holidays has come and gone. The cheer of the most magical time of the year has been put back in its box where it will be stored—along with its glittery ornaments—until next December.
When mountains of wrapping paper have been tidied and the shiny new toys start losing their novelty, all that is left is a sense of ‘here we go again’. Even New Year resolutions feel increasingly old-fashioned and unserious as the years go by. We leave our trees up until March. We set alarms with a tad too much ambition for the person we wake up as the nex…