Bubbles Bubbles Everywhere and Not a Drop to Drink

I stare into my glass of lukewarm champagne, watching the occasional bubble still fighting to make its way to the surface. I sympathize with it, visualizing the sad little bubble as a metaphor for my own life, constantly fighting to be free, trying to realize its purpose as it flees to the surface.

All its little companions fled ages ago, a mass exodus of bubbles when the glass was poured. But for some reason, this one was left behind, stuck to the edges of the glass. Waiting for its moment to shine.

Around me, New Year’s Eve is in full swing. I should love this holiday. Isn’t it supposed to celebrate the fact that a new year with new opportunities in store? Instead it seems another opportunity for people who have everything to rub it in the faces of those who don’t.

Not that I’m bitter. That would be silly. Why be bitter when I can drown my issues in nice bubbly glasses of alcohol?

Speaking of which…

I down the champagne in a gulp and search around for the waiter. I need a new glass.

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