So far 2022 is snowstorms and clementines and croissants with butter. I was awake late so slept pretty late today, and with the weather, I may just go back to my bed. I still feel like this week is a strange state of limbo, neither here nor there. I am back to work again on Monday, at least for the next month or so, though I feel like the exterior world is a far more covidy place than I left it before Christmas. I will put on my heavy-duty mask and brave public transportation once again, though I am hoping nothing kills me before I get to work from home in February. At this point I probably won't die, but the disruption sucks. Overcrowded hospitals suck. General breakdown of society sucks. And yet, disease flying around, we are expected to pretend its normal. In fact, mostly I see people, even people who say they are vaxxed and careful, pretending its normal, going to restaurants and New Years Parties. Do they feel safe? Because I sure as hell do not. And really, this sort of shit is how we got into this mess.
Normally, I would fill this space with plans, for projects, for goals, for resolutions, whatever form those take. I have a major life job-related change coming up, but I am still treading carefully as we come into the new year. I need to drink more water and take more walks. I would like to finally read novels. I have plans to release animal, vegetable, monster in late February. Other than that, I am making no promises.
