What seriously is up with this constant RATING of things? The BEST, the MOST the LEAST the FAVOURITE the single most IMPORTANT?
I do not know. I cannot choose. Perhaps I lack sufficient passion to absolutely love or hate. Most days I can’t make myself care enough about anything to spout my silly opinion by looking back or peering into the foggy future.
Here’s to wishy-washy indecisiveness and changing ones mind. I’ve answered one hundred and thirty-six plinky prompts this year. And by all indications appear to have retained some vestige of sanity doing it. What an accomplishment that has turned out to be.
I’ve stayed alive and have not strangled anyone. Yesterday I gave myself the most delightful home pedicure, and although that may not be of vital importance to the world at large, my feet are damned happy about it. I haven’t burned down the house or crashed the car or blown anything up.
So all in all it’s been a good year. I’d love to give it some kind of numerical percentage mark compared to all the other years I’ve lived, but I seem to have misplaced my score sheet where I tick off extraordinarily significant attainments, deeds and feats. (I think there’s also a column for movies and songs and celebrities to earn a few meaningless gold stars.)
Where have the writing challenges gone? Some of them were HARD, but I attempted them anyway. It was like being back in Language Arts with gawd-awful assignments that made me cringe, but coaxed small hints of brilliance from my brain by the end of the day. I miss that. I want it back.