
That’s right, it’s here again! My annual “end of the year” post to wish you a very happy holiday season, whatever you lovely book nerds and murderinos celebrate. I can’t believe I’m writing another one of these. Smash Mouth got it right, the years really do start coming and they don’t stop coming…
So, it is T-minus 5 days until that Very Merry Morning, and honestly, I’m not sure how we got here. Like, first it’s Christmas and then what’s next? The new year?! Excuse you, stupid fucking calendar! I’m just supposed to accept that it’s 2022? How? And why? And how again?
I’m still processing 2020, but somehow two more years have come and gone in this unprecedented pandemic that gets more and more precedented the longer we keep doing half-measures. I didn’t read as much as I hoped to this year, my blogging fell off, my mental health has been teetering right on the edge for twelve full months, and I didn’t get my shit together physically like I wanted to.
Really all I got out of 2021 was another year older, under eye cream for fine lines and a little agoraphobia.
That’s some bullshit, but I guess there’s always next year.
