So 2018 is finally here. I am neither happy nor especially unhappy about that. Years that end in 8 are the years I turn an age that ends in 0 and this year it's going to be a big, ugly one. I'm still not done being freaked out about turning 50 ten years ago in May. But honestly, it seems too unreal to have any strong feelings about it. I don't quite believe it yet. I think after a certain age (say, 45?) we should no longer be required to know how old we are. We should be allowed to say, "I'm 45 plus," and put 45+ on official forms and documents.
Other than that, new years don't mean much to me. It's totally arbitrary. It's just the day when we start a new calendar. Not that I don't think about it at all. But I just can't get very excited about it. The last time I got excited about a new year was 2000 but the new millennium has turned out to be, mostly, a big disappointment.
I've always sort of thought it's weird that the new year starts in January. It should be the first day of spring, or, if you want to keep the months the same, March 1st. Or maybe April 1st. On the other hand, Having it a week after Christmas does feel like a good end to the big holiday season - a way of formally "getting back to normal".
So that's it. Life is getting back to normal, whatever that means in 2018. Normal is always changing you know. I want to blog more, I kind of miss it, but I don't know if I will. Maybe two or three people are even reading this and I have trouble feeling motivated without at least a small audience. Aside from that, I'm not sure I have much to say that's worth the time. Mine or yours. I do, sometime in the next few days or week, want to say a little about the last half dozen books I read. If I can get motivated.
But anyway, happy New Year to all of you who are into that sort of thing.