I finished the very last of the leftover Hallowe'en candy. (Kit Kats, if you're wondering.)
I got the bank loan and paid off my overwrought credit card, thus ending the extra special holiday omicron variant of anxiety. I'm downgraded to plain ol' normal anxiety.
And as far as I'm concerned that's the final creeping tentacle of 2022. I don't expect great things from 2023. It isn't going to be my year any more or less than previous years. But as just Crowley was glad to put as much distance between himself and the fourteenth century,* I'm happy to watch 2020 (not to mention 2016 which was like my own personal 2020 of doom) recede in the rear view mirror of time.
I've kind of lost the thread of where I was going with this thought. Something about being a grownup but not wanting to overdo it. I dunno. I just typed "sentence" when I meant "sense" so clearly I'm not making any. Sense that is.
And I just found another typo. I fell asleep after dinner and woke up in time for bed and I should be super awake now but I'm not, my eyelids are too heavy and I almost dislocated my jaw yawning, so I'm just going to sleep. Again.
I'd say I'll come back tomorrow and really proofread this and fix all of the typos and maybe even try to find the d^mned point again or at least change the title to match the current lack-of-a-point thesis, but we all know I won't fix a thing.
*See Good Omens: The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch by Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman if that sentence makes no sense.
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