Guess we’re here now. I have a lot of reasons I don’t like New Year’s Eve but one of the more obvious problems that day has is the bathos of New Year’s Day. Hey guess what, years are an arbitrary and barely accurate construct designed to benchmark seasons and rotations that don’t make a whole lot of difference on the human level. Scientifically they have some dubious usage but to you and me, today is no different than yesterday.
Why am I saying that? Well, I guess the bright and cheery tone might not be giveaway enough that I’m still in a pretty dark place all told. Work starts again in three days but I’m still not allowed to actually go in, actually, be at work. Instead I’m in this damn limbo and more or less confirmed I couldn’t walk in anyway today. I did 10,000 steps and let me tell you my ankle is making its protest felt.
I’m about to sit down and write. I’ve already long since decided that I want to finish the series before I begin new projects but, man I know you’re imaginary and therefore have likely not read my back catalogue but, I write a lot of depressing stories. Like, really depressing. Is that, my thing? I don’t want it to be but, oh I dunno. It’s almost funny how much my work seems to affect me. Is my work sad because I am, or vice versa?
Don’t worry my imaginary readers on tenterhooks I ain’t stopping, 1,000 a day, plenty more stories to come but, man once I finish The Service to Ore series I need to write some happy go lucky stuff for at least a year or so. If I don’t I think I’m might just go crazy. Or maybe I already have, it was a pretty insane arbitary navigation around the sun of a year. I don’t expect 2021 to be better but man, I’d love to be surprised. Surprised with good stuff just to clarify.
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