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The day with 2014

By on Jan 1, 2014 in family, go me, Site Stuff, Weighty Issues | 2 comments

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Well, look who’s crawled out of the arse-end of 2013 and blogging a’fresh, like every other two-bit blogger in the blogosphere?

I know. I have no shame.

How are you then? Keeping well? Your hair looks fab, by the way. Have you lost weight? Insert other niceties here, and I’ll gloss over the startling absence – again – with hot, stabby nonchalance.

If I told you I’ll miss 2013 I’d by lying. I know. The end of 2012? It wasn’t great. But I spent a huge part of 2013 (probably) clinically depressed, self-medicating with chocolate and tears and struggling to get out of bed. The tail end of 2012 was crap, but it was in 2013 where I hit rock bottom. Thankfully, I’m on the up again now; I have a job, steady writing work, and the promise of other things twinkling in my not-too-distant future. But I’ll always remember 2013 for the turd of the year it’s been, and keep it fresh in my mind as a reminder of how low that low point was. I’m stronger than I gave myself credit for, and my marriage even stronger.

Both of those facts have come as something of a revelation.

I’m not doing resolutions; as I’m certain I’ve said before, resolutions and me don’t mix. Rather than saying I’ll stop doing this, or start doing that, I have goals. Goals that I’d like to reach by 31 December 2014. They’re not particularly exciting, nor very original … I would like to be 20lbs lighter. I would like to have 500 Youtube subscribers (I’ll elaborate another day on the whys). I would like for GGS to be financially self-efficient by 1 September 2014 (1 September 2013 is when I started tracking income/expenditure a little more carefully). Other goals are less tangible, but I’d like to play and complete more games (yeah, really – which is kind of why I’m planning to start Let’s Playing), and, unsurprisingly, write more.

I didn’t touched my novel in 2012; I completely lost my way. And I barely touched my blog because … well, it was too painful. Too raw. My life was unravelling, and the last thing I wanted to do was document my failure for all to see. However therapeutic writing may be – and it really is for me – right then it was just too much.

But that’s the past, right? And the past is just that: past. I’ve wasted too much time ruing decisions and actions and seriously – what’s the point of that? Onwards and upwards, right?