If 2025 were a drink, it would be a colonoscopy prep drink.
I don’t remember where I first read this, but it resonated deeply—and inspired me to keep going. Please feel free to add your own definition of 2025.
If 2025 were a meal, it would be a meatball from your mom at the Christmas table, disguised as falafel, because she’s worried you’re not getting enough protein as a vegan.
If 2025 were a dessert, it would be the traditional English trifle Rachel makes in Friends—meant to be layered with ladyfingers, raspberry jam, custard, and whipped cream—but because two cookbook pages are stuck together, it also contains sautéed beef, onions, and peas from a shepherd’s pie recipe, looks perfectly fine on the outside, is served with confidence, and only reveals what it really is once you take a bite.
If 2025 were a task, it would be a password reset.
If 2025 were a file, it would be a corrupted PDF.
If 2025 were an update, it would be the mandatory one right before a Zoom meeting that already started.
If 2025 were a feeling, it would be marked delivered but no package.
If 2025 were a restaurant, it would be at the airport, next to the toilets.
If 2025 were a queue, it would be the wrong one after 45 minutes of standing in it.
If 2025 were a customer service chat, it would be “you are number 87 in line.”
If 2025 were a GPS instruction, it would be constant recalculating.
If 2025 were a checkout option, it would be “create an account to continue.”
If 2025 were a guy, he’d be the Amazon delivery driver who claims he attempted delivery while you were home waiting all day.
If 2025 were a subscription, it would be the useless but expensive one you forgot to cancel.
If 2025 were a form, it would be missing one required field and wouldn’t accept random letters, so you can’t proceed.
If 2025 were a shortcut, it would stop working after the update.
If 2025 were a refund, it would be store credit.
If 2025 were a coffee, it would be a watery, oversugared American decaf.
If 2025 were a place, it would be an emergency waiting room in a Hungarian public hospital on New Year’s Eve.
If 2025 were a device, it would be a slow, noisy Canon printer with low ink.
If 2025 were a message, it would be “per my last email” from your PhD supervisor.
If 2025 were a notification, it would be anything from your toxic ex.
If 2025 were a deadline, it would have been yesterday.
If 2025 were timing, it would be the patient who says “one last small thing” after the goodbye and then drops the atomic bomb.
If 2025 were a candy, it would be the vomit-flavored bean from Harry Potter’s Every Flavor Beans.
There is no amount of money you could pay me to redo this year.
TGIF.
Happy New One, everybody.
My Club, The Lab, is open. Come join us there HERE on Substack.
