God, hes left as on aur oun.
Resolver.
Almost forgot to mention: Patrick spent New Year’s Day brewing up one helluva mole, while I made the Hoppin’ John, and when we were all gathered around, him and me and the Spouse, and Anne and Dylan and Vera and Rich and Erika and Matt and Jesse, and Steve and Sara and Johnzo and Victoria, and the three cats, of course, well, it was then that Steve, who isn’t called Uncle Crackdown for nothing, started asking what our New Year’s resolutions were.
And I thought about how every year lately we’ve been standing around in varying states of intoxication groaning as the year ekes out its last. Turning our faces slowly to the next. Anything’s got to be better than that, right? is what we all say, year after year after year.
(Actually, said this person, or that, I had a pretty good year this year. —Hush, you! You’re mucking up the paradigm!)
So I thought about saying my resolution was to have a good year, but I didn’t.
I said, instead, to finish something.
I have a couple things in mind. We’ll see.
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I have a couple things in mind.
I am very excited about this.
Keen.
Mind you, I'd rather have read half of one of your projects than none; I'm content across the board. But keen.
Hoppin' John! Alas, my northern wife knows nothing of proper rituals, and I didn't get a chance to make any this New Year's.
I'm doomed.
If you want, any, you know, like, pointers on what to finish first, I'm ready.
We go anywhere near where I think you’re thinking, I’ll let you know.
What can I say? I like roses.