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My planning was a little better this year because I have evening plans tonight, which I absolutely did not last year, and on the last day (my quixotic rules include no backdating past the first of the year) I managed the minimum — one post per week, current or backdated, always on Tuesdays.
I used to do more, sometimes, usually in a pattern. One the first week, two the second, three the third, and so on. I did the Fibonacci Sequence to five one or two times, math oddities pulled from elementary school television. I used the letters in my (former) name. I’ve skipped weeks, months, whole years never recorded in the tapestry that is this place. Sometimes I wrote multiple posts in a day because the words were just there, ready to be written.
2025 was a lot. I was exhausted and uncomfortable and still drowning in long covid and the destruction it has wrought on my body. Politically, as I’ve mentioned, it was a full-on Goya nightmare, and I can barely stand to look (away, hmph, i have the compulsion to know). I had the goal of traveling less and cleaning up my home more, and had minor success, but I was still away from home more than I wanted to be. It’s looking like another year of that again, but maybe I can pull something new from it. I have more concrete plans for the house, at least, so maybe I can at least put those into effect.
It’s odd, last year I felt very refreshed after completing my task, and ready to begin anew. This year I mostly feel somewhat accomplished, but comfortable taking a break again. Maybe next year I won’t push myself. Or perhaps, if I don’t push myself, I’ll have greater success with posting on time. Hard to say. Maybe next year I’ll get medicated, maybe I’ll keep struggling. Maybe I’ll manage to finish the poem I started and have left hanging since 2021. (Probably not)
Under any circumstances, happy new year. I’m hoping against all hope that it will somehow be better.
I used to do more, sometimes, usually in a pattern. One the first week, two the second, three the third, and so on. I did the Fibonacci Sequence to five one or two times, math oddities pulled from elementary school television. I used the letters in my (former) name. I’ve skipped weeks, months, whole years never recorded in the tapestry that is this place. Sometimes I wrote multiple posts in a day because the words were just there, ready to be written.
2025 was a lot. I was exhausted and uncomfortable and still drowning in long covid and the destruction it has wrought on my body. Politically, as I’ve mentioned, it was a full-on Goya nightmare, and I can barely stand to look (away, hmph, i have the compulsion to know). I had the goal of traveling less and cleaning up my home more, and had minor success, but I was still away from home more than I wanted to be. It’s looking like another year of that again, but maybe I can pull something new from it. I have more concrete plans for the house, at least, so maybe I can at least put those into effect.
It’s odd, last year I felt very refreshed after completing my task, and ready to begin anew. This year I mostly feel somewhat accomplished, but comfortable taking a break again. Maybe next year I won’t push myself. Or perhaps, if I don’t push myself, I’ll have greater success with posting on time. Hard to say. Maybe next year I’ll get medicated, maybe I’ll keep struggling. Maybe I’ll manage to finish the poem I started and have left hanging since 2021. (Probably not)
Under any circumstances, happy new year. I’m hoping against all hope that it will somehow be better.
