I love a challenge!
Once again, I have brought my blog to the brink of destruction – not quite teetering over the abyss (it’s only sunk to around 600K on Alexa and hasn’t hit the millions, yet!) – and the prospect of breathing fresh life into it as the New Year breathes frost on the windowpane is exhilarating! It is a tradition – just like Pinterest-fail gingerbread houses, NaNoWriMo angst, and making unkempt New Year’s resolutions. That’s right – unkempt, not unkept. Resolutions litter this blog like unmatched socks. Some are well-worn, with holes that match the ones in my soul. Some have been shoved into the sock drawer, where they play hopscotch on Hell’s paving stones and romp with good intentions. Others are neatly paired with unflinching commitment and smoking hot, well-laid plans.
They’re precious, aren’t they?
Only the writing goals really happened: I even took home a 2nd Place prize in Flash Fiction from OWFI, and will be speaking there this year, on social media for writers and writing for children. The volunteering and/or donating to the Houston Food Bank – that mostly happened. Until May, when I broke my ankle. I could have accomplished a lot of work on that owl blanket, or the Punishment Pig, but none of that was happening. A lot of other things happened. If “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans,” it’s wise to ditch the other plans.
This is a “No Whining Zone.”
So – I’m working on the Punishment Pig:
No, it’s not hot pink embroidery floss, because I can’t see stitches that small right now. But it will be adorably cute. I hope.
I’m renewing commitment to health and fitness and cheering for the fact that I am still 10 lbs. lighter than I was this time last year. I will need to force myself to go to the gym more often; between a still-stiff ankle, vision problems (RCE – at least now we know it’s not eyeball-munching, glass-pooping beetles), and occasional bouts of vertigo (like every time a front moves through), I won’t be traipsing through the woods for a while. I’ll be the old lady who actually uses the safety cord on the treadmill. After a champagne celebration over the mere fact that I could go down the stairs left-foot, right-foot, left-foot, right-foot again after breaking my ankle, it’s clear that I’ve learned to adjust my expectations and take small victories where I find them.
Lots of life happening, this year.
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