On balance, 2007 was ass. I mean, not even a large disaster or two, more like a neverending siege of small bits of nonsense, things going wrong. Three dead pets, my abdominal surgery, Mr. A working 19 hours a day at a job so incredibly awful it would have been a relief when he got fired except that it was the day after I got home from the hospital, three months of double unemployment, family illness, infertility drama, friends sick and dying, and I’m hugely grateful it wasn’t worse. Lots of people have had worse. Lots of you had worse.
There was a lot of good this year, too: My book being finished, and out probably within the next couple weeks (so those of you who’ve ordered, don’t give up hope!). Mr. A and I both have new jobs we enjoy, that don’t make us feel like anybody’s buttslaves or disappointing children respectively. We have two new ferrets who are gleefully destroying the house and making us laugh each day. We’ve spent time with good friends, and done work I felt good about doing. Meeting you all in New Orleans was a high point in a very, very, very bad black miserable spring.
I don’t have a lot of resolutions, though, right now. I feel like we should be wheeled into 2008 on a stretcher, covered against bright light and loud noises and allowed to sip only lukewarm water until our hands stop shaking. I know I need to attack my writing harder, to be more responsible about it instead of acting like it’s going to manage itself. I know I need to stop eating like a hypoglycemic five-year-old, and cut back on the booze, and exercise and do all that stuff that we’re supposed to promise to do. Exciting things are going to be happening this year and I’m resolved to spend as much time hashing them over here as is humanly possible. More crack vans, more liveblogging, more fun. If there’s one good thing about this year bearing down on us, it’s that the other one’s over, and we can put it in a box, tape it shut, and go on.
Happy New Year, and Thank God 2007’s Over.