The last day of the year, today. The very last one among three-hundred and sixty-five of them. But what does this mean? Years go on and on as the earth keeps circling the sun, but the end of one year and the beginning of another are entirely arbitrary. Whence the calendar. Arbitrary though it is, it is accepted by most for entirely practical reasons. For better or worse, this holds for me, as well. Having accepted the calendar, I introduced yearbooks into my writing project. The last day in the calendar year corresponds to the last day in any of my many yearbooks. And this happens to be the last day of the current yearbook. The earth will keep circling around the sun, but this yearbook will come to its end. As of tomorrow, another yearbook will come into play, but the sharp divide between the two yearbooks will remain forever, as though there was such a thing as the end of one year and the beginning of another. Ridiculous, to say the least. Silly old me, the best I can do is to blame the calendar. Another human invention that boggles the mind year after year. While the earth keeps circling the sun entirely oblivious to human inventions, I cannot but feel that my writing project keeps being butchered by arbitrary divides. Boo-hoo!