This year was A Lot.
I know that’s the case for many people, and many of those had it worse than my household. But like the earlier pandemic years, it felt like we were in survival mode (with extra bonus gaslighting). COVID hit in the beginning of the year; I’m still feeling the effects, which has been bad for productivity/adulting/creativity/etc. There’s been other health stuff. Summer logistics were a nightmare. A car died. We moved into a new house. The dog died. We have two puppies.
I have no resolutions beyond a commitment to continue the grind. For a number of years, I keep hoping we (personally, nationally, culturally) will turn a metaphorical corner. That’d be awesome if it happens, but I’m not holding my breath. My hopes, plans, and desires for 2023 are modest.
Tonight, I’m chilling at home instead of going to Hogmanay. (Though frankly, it’s been a while since I’ve done what used to be our default plan.) We’ve seen some friends in a low key manner, and plan to ring in the year with others. At least, those of us who don’t decide to take a nap instead.