I'm counting down to the New Year, and gettin' the doxie ready for our midnight smooch. Yes and alas, readers, my New Year's Eve is being spent solo. Iffy weather conditions kept me from making any sort of travel plans, so it's just as well I'm staying home and reviewing the year that was, in hopes of doing much, much better next year.
Although my finances are finishing the year in worse shape, my body is faring a bit better than it was at the start of 2009. I've discovered that exercising doesn't have to equal the torture dished out by our grade school gym teacher, who extolled the virtues of running till one pukes and believed the way to motivate us chubby kids was through humiliation. (Yeah, that worked real well, Mr. Schwartz!) I had hoped to observe birthday 50 -- now just 113 days away -- with some sort of grand walkabout in the British Isles, but unless somebody actually gifts me with such a trek (or unless I somehow manage to double my salary between now & then), the trip won't happen this year. Nevertheless, I can aim to walk the five flights of stairs in the campus library without requiring supplemental oxygenation . . . .
While true love eluded me in '09, my ventures in the realm of romance did serve to confirm what I don't want in a relationship. Sadly, it also seemed to confirm that the men I am attracted to do not reciprocate the sentiment -- and it's not as thought I've got impossibly idealistic, unrealistic standards. (But perhaps they do?) Still, I'm going to give the Bolivian love amulet time to do its magic, and have every reason to believe that I'll at least have a date before the end of the first quarter of 2010. Hopefully without having to move to another state.
I wasn't a very diligent blogger this past year, and can't promise to improve in the months ahead, but will strive to at least maintain the same level of entertainment and whining that you've come to expect, with perhaps more poetry and original photography thrown in for interest.
And I will continue not to charge for this service.