I suppose I have to write something about 2022.
I'm not much in the mood to, truth be told. Mainly because the Russian invasion of Ukraine has made events in my own little life too petty to care about. Historical epochs are forming as we speak, like mountains rising out of the dark waters of time, and my contribution is retweeting NAFO memes. I find it difficult to care about anything else.
This may be one reason why my reading count is down from the previous year - 21 from 28 (and only 38 short stories, though I kept very sloppy count). I should know better than to treat this as some sort of deadline, but it really is a sharp decline - the first since I started keeping track back in 2016. This is unquestionably because I wasted so many hours doomscrolling and fruitlessly yelling at tankies and vatniks. This is not a good use of my time, but sometimes I just can't help myself. Trying harder may be good policy.
Last year I vowed to drink less. Did I? Maybe. I wasn't keeping track in '21, so it's hard to be sure. I reckon I did, bu there's still room for improvement.
Definitely exercised less. Doom scrolling does not lend itself to healthy movement. We'll definitely have to improve that.
Wrote not a whole lot, though some good pieces came out of it. I may appear in an anthology this year, but I have heard nothing from the organizers, so we'll see.
Got two articles published in the local paper, so hooray for me!
Went to Italy, and Halifax. Ate lots.
Saw Judas Priest, Midnight Oil, and Raven in concert. And Bruce Dickinson spoken word. No complaints there, except Tickmaster assholery.
Got COVID, so I guess I won't win that particular raffle, bit survived, so arguably won a much more important one.
It is what it is. As for the next one? We'll see. . .
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