I miss my books. This has to be the year my books get unpacked, one way or another.
This is also the year I actually have to do a lot of book reading. I have a stack — a mile high — of material I want to read that *gasp* isn’t on teh intarnet. I don’t even want to know how high the stack of material that *is* on the internet is. Fearsomely high I suspect, but it’s free & will be waiting, I suppose. To this end, I have a book light that I can use in the bedroom while
This has to be the year the house sells or we decide that we’re staying (and deciding we’re staying entails undertaking some necessary upgrades like getting electrical redone, redoing bathroom, finishing downstairs floor, insulating the crawl space, maybe pre-emptive heating & water tank updating, among other things).
Did I mention I miss my books? I miss my fucking books.
And you know, I’m not so much into the usual gamut of resolutions and promises & crap. I have a few ideas of other things I’d like to do in the back of my mind, but those are ongoing rather than anything like “This year blah blah blah blah.”
That’s about enough not really reflectiveness for now. Now I s’pose I should figure out what’s for dinner for the first day of the new year.
