2022

My expectations are low.

No, don’t jump to any conclusions, I’m not being Debbie Downer, I’m not being negative or anything of the sort. I just think we expect too much from a new year.

The anticipation builds as the days of December go by, one after the other after the other. All we can think about (hope for) is how much better the next year will be. Should be. Must be. Will surely be. We keep telling ourselves and everyone we talk to that “next year will be better.” We really believe it. We console ourselves with it and look forward to the ball dropping at midnight like an addict looks forward to more drugs. It makes the crap we’re going through bearable.

On a positive note …

Whew! We survived 2017 and that’s all I’ll say about that. We’re being positive, right? So Happy New Year to you, to us, to all those we hold dear.

When I was thinking about what I’d write today, I remembered something my mother used to say (and do) every time I moved into a new house or apartment.

“Fransi,” she’d say, “remember to bring a piece of bread, some salt, some sugar and a new broom with you the first time you go in. And make sure you enter with your right foot first.” It wasn’t enough she’d

As we hurtle toward another new year …

When I was young I was impatient. I couldn’t wait to be 13, then 16, then 18, then 21. I couldn’t wait to become a teenager, to drive, to date, to vote, to work, to live on my own. Time moved so slowly, too slowly. It drove me crazy.

Now that I’m in my dotage it’s the exact opposite. I can’t keep up, can’t keep track. The days turn into weeks and months and years and decades way too quickly. It’s not fair, what’s the rush?

Why can there be no happy medium?

Don’t bother trying to come up with an answer. It’s one of those

What’s the big deal?

We’re just days into the New Year and here I am, complaining.  Well, not really complaining.  It’s more like ‘wondering’.  Or making an observation.  Or questioning.  I’m confused, is all.  For the life of me I can’t figure out why we make such a big deal out of New Year’s Eve.  Okay, okay, okay, I get the significance of beginning a new year.  Truly I do.  But why the insistence on wearing silly hats and cranking noisemakers and watching balls drop and drinking ourselves into oblivion?  What’s the point of all that?

Speaking strictly for myself, I’ve never liked New Year’s Eve.  In fact, I kinda loathe it.  Too many people trying way to hard to have a good time.  Way too many people who can’t hold their liquor getting way too drunk.  Drunk to the point of crying, drunk to the point of sharing the most intimate details of their lives with virtual strangers, drunk to the point of making passes at their best friends’ husbands (or vice versa), drunk to the point of passing out or, even worse,

A creature of habit no more …

To some degree I think we all fall into patterns.  You know, keep doing the same thing, the same way, day after day, week after week, month after month, even year after year.  I don’t think we’re always even aware of it.  It just becomes part of who we are.  Part of our routine.

For example, I do the same thing every morning.  I take my shower first, then wash my face and then brush my teeth.  I’ve been performing these tasks, in this order, for as long as I can remember.  I feed my cats first, then I have breakfast.  Then I clean

Day 147. Looking Back

We’re mere hours away from a brand new year.  What better time to reflect?  When I started this, particular, blog back in August I really had no idea how it would turn out.  I woke up one morning and decided, there and then, I wanted a blog.  One just for ‘me’.  Where I’d write every day come hell or high water.

About anything and everything.  Whatever popped into my head.  Whatever inspired me.  Whatever I felt like writing about.

Whatever.

And before I could change my mind, I picked a format, played with it a bit, wrote my ‘pages’ and had my first post written.  And published.  All in the space of a few hours.  I was committed.  Publicly.  And anyone who knows me