Remember all of those great things I was going to do this year? I didn't do any of them.
I was going to write more. I couldn't have written less. I was going to read War & Peace. I stopped lugging it around after a week or so (probably less than 50 pages in-Why the fuck did nobody tell me that half of it is in French???). I was going to be healthier. The clerks at the local Mcdonald's & Wendy's not only know me by name, they already have my order entered when they hear the signature tick tick ticking of my belagured engine in their drive-thru speaker. And yes, I was going to get that fixed too...
I was going to make more time for my friends and family. I can count one one hand the number of times I've seen my mother, brother and sister this year, and they all live within 10 minutes of me. I was going to make a better effort to move my relationship with Meg forward; most days anymore it seems like all we really are is roommates.
Life just gets in the way of good intentions sometimes.
Not that the past year has been a total loss. Meg and I are now in a house that, if all goes well, we will purchase in two and a half years thanks to my grandmother's generosity. I am gainfully employed (x2) which is more than I can say for, what, 7% of America right now? My last doctor's appointment revealed a suprisingly healthy person (good blood sugar & pressure, cholesterol, etc) is still hiding beneath all this extra insulation. I still have most of the hair on my head, and more and more on my back everyday.
I'm going to try blogging again. Maybe this time it'll stick.
Oh, and I'm going to stop signing off with pretentious mood-revealing signatures. Because that really isn't me.