I've been thinking the last few days about posting a (late) year-end review like everyone else. But I've had trouble keeping my mind on the subject, and so I've pretty much decided that if even I can't find my year interesting, I can't possibly expect you to.
The thing is that, really, 2004 was kind of a wash, although I did make some really amazing friends. I made friends in Seattle that were completely worth the pain of leaving my Flagler kids, that were worth the months after my move of being totally, completely lonely.
Otherwise, I've done a lot of failing. I'm good at that. Right up until the end of the year I moved in every direction except forward. I managed to fail to get into grad school for the second time. I wrote a lot of junk, although since I also refrained from writing even more junk, I can pretty much consider that cancelled out too.
I did read a lot of good books. And I learned how to knit.
I worry, not on a daily basis but probably a weekly or monthly one, that I suffer from a strange Checkovian talking disease, that I'm not keeping enough of the fumes of my experience to myself, that I'm really wasting even more time talking about the things that aren't really important because I'm thoroughly unable to put into words the ones that are.
The end of 2004 found me happier and richer than the same time from the year before, but still missing something. If all goes according to plan, maybe I'll have something to really be proud about by the end of this year. In the meantime, I'll continue to boast about the friends I've made, about the wonderful people who, hopefully, I can keep in my life for a long time to come.
If worst comes to worst, of course, I can also brag about my knitting. I learned how to knit!
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