I hope you all have a wonderful new year.
I for one am happy to close the door on 2007. I bound happily and eagerly over the threshold into 2008. Let’s hope that what waits for us on the other side is full of happiness, peace, enlightenment, creativity, good health, and great luck.
See you there.
I still don’t know what to do. It’s totally lame. If I could just stick my head in the sand and wait life and my desires out, I would. There’s a fork in the road, and I can’t figure out which road to take. I can’t figure out how to prioritize. I am fighting against lifelong patterns and impulses. This whole thing is making me so incredibly unhappy–either that, or my unhappiness is causing this tumult. It is TOTALLY LAME. Why can’t all the pieces just fall into place?
In the interim, I’m still obsessively dreaming about alternative lives. Escape!
I just found out you can get a message printed on a piece of the confetti in Times Square–and registered my wish. The message-carrying confetti pieces will be mixed with the other confetti.
This year, when I watch the confetti dropped on Times Square on New Year’s Eve, I’ll have the image of wishes floating around everywhere–why not add to that gorgeous flurry?
It’s the holiday season, a time when I run to the mailbox knowing there’s a slightly higher chance of receiving a personal greeting amidst the numerous bills. I love holiday cards–regardless of whether or not there’s a personal note or a typewritten “year in summary” note. (This year, as I read the “year in summary” letters and the “How did your year go?” I winced–there are things that happened this year that I could never write in a “cheery” year end summary, no matter how I spin them).
It is a good time to remember and be remembered, to reach out and connect. Many of these relationships hang on this once-a-year postal exchange. Without the holiday cards, I fear we would entirely disconnect and be sent out into the ether.
In addition to the holiday cards are rejection letters and cards returned to sender. It’s a mixed array of mail, a pile that sends me into spikes and troughs each day. At no other time of the year does postal mail become such an emotional event, day to day.
I think it’s time to shake the fog of holiday vacation from my head and start writing again. It’s the only cure.
Winter solstice–the shortest day, and longest night of the year. After tonight, daylight begins its march back into our lives, minute by minute.
It is so quiet.
Except for the sound of my keyboard.
Thank goodness for friends. They dragged me out to celebrate my MFA graduation, in the wake of my blase finale. None of them are writers, but they all know what it means to reach a goal, and then to move on to new ones.
We shared a toast, and then set to business, which in our crowd means ordering good food and chowing down.