New Year’s Day: Now is the accepted time to make your regular annual good resolutions. Next week you can begin paving hell with them as usual. – Mark Twain
It’s New Year’s eve. I’m home, and not going anywhere. It’s not that I’m anti party – far from it. Ask me next week and I’ll be there. Just not tonight. A dozen years ago tonight a friend was killed in a head-on collision. That was enough for me.
So I’m here instead of there.
I spent most of today thinking about this past year. Thumbing through old theatre programs and notes, I submitted a “year-in-review” article to a theatre website, and in the process I’ve revisited more than just shows.
This past year I was often angry. I can see elements of this in my writing. I have no idea where it’s leading. But I’m aware …
There were times when I reacted but should have been quiet. There were times when I was silent and should have reacted. This year I’ll try to have less fear and more resolve.
I need to tell my friends more that I love them. They know, but I need to say it more often.
There are those with whom I have no future. I need to let go.
I’d love to win the Pulitzer prize for literature. This would be a good year.
I need to finish the projects I start – at least more of them.
And that reminds me. I think I’d like to do something new this year. Maybe I’ll run for governor of Alaska. I meet the qualifications. I’m breathing.
Or I could just run away with gypsies. That’s been on my short list for years.
On my own, with all of my falls.
3 years ago