Sneaking Up on It

So Darling Ones,

Looks like I made it to 2022. I hope you did too.

I had a very quiet New Year’s Eve with Sister #2, Ben, and I slumped into the furniture watching the entirety of the TV show “WandaVision.” Sister #2 has been obsessed with the Marvel Universe this year. Of all the offerings “WandaVision” was the only one that interested me. It was exactly the kind of thing I like a little sad, charming, funny, and smart. Take note, men interested in dating me. Because we are old we were in bed by like 12:15.

Now I begin the New Year with an empty house and a tired mind.

There are many ways to start off a brand new year and I respect all of them while also acknowledging my way is the best way.

I like to kick off a new year very slowly and quietly, like I’m sneaking up on it and don’t want it to see me lest it ruin everything. I mean, if the 2020s have taught us anything it’s that a year has a real way of ruining the shit out of everything. I peeped my January 01, 2020 post and it kind of made my heart hurt a little. It’s written by such an innocent who has no idea what the world has in store for everyone. It’s getting a bit difficult to remember the before times. As to be expected, last year’s New Year’s Day post is an emotional train wreck. That one makes my hear hurt too, because I was so fucking sad.

As for easing into the new year, thus far today I have woken up, eaten a giant breakfast, and taken a nap. Like I said, slow and easy. I’m 98.9% sure there is a gloaming nap happening soon, probably an early bed time too. I have miles and miles of sleep to catch up on after the social gauntlet that’s the holidays. I should probably be napping right now, but I like to get the first post of the year out the way ASAP. This is simply because I like to see another year added to my Archives list.

The only remotely productive things I’ve done today are change my furnace’s air filter and chosen which book I will re-read to kick off 2022. Drumroll please. . . it will be Tell the Wolves I’m Home by Carol Rifka Brunt. Since I’m turning fifty this year I thought I’d re-read a book I loved the year I turned forty. Aside: why does 2012 feel like it was roughly 186 years ago while the 90s still feel like ten years ago? I will never understand math and time.

I suppose, it’s getting to be nap time.

Love,
Jodi

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