Fat on Christmas

It’s Christmas, and somehow I’m not surprised that I have eaten too much.

This has, of course, left me feeling rather gross — which means nothing is being accomplished. I’m trying to write but instead all I can think about is that biscotti I probably shouldn’t have eaten an hour ago. I keep telling myself I should stop eating, and then someone brings me a cookie. Because it’s Christmas, I happily accept the cookie and feel further disinclined to do anything productive. I’m sure you’re thinking; “but D.C, it’s Christmas. You aren’t supposed to be productive on Christmas.”

Sure, that’s true. But I’m also 29 years old, and 29 year-olds aren’t supposed to be jobless.

And so, there is probably no better time for me to write my first blog entry.

I guess they are more for myself than anything. I suppose someday, five years from now, I’ll be sitting in a room writing and suddenly wonder what the hell I was doing back in Christmas 2018, and I’ll open this blog up to laugh at myself. I suppose what I’d really want to see is what I was up to.

Dear Future Self. This is what you were up to in 2018:

You are an unpublished author, but you suck a lot less at writing than you did a year ago. You’re planning on finishing your first two books by the middle of next year. Good job.

2018, apart from writing, pretty much sucked. You spent your summer fighting a German hydra (…the three-headed sort. You won by running away before it grew extra heads) and you spent your spring writing a novel that didn’t turn out quite as well as you would have hoped. But that’s okay. You put that novel on the back-burner because you had better, more awesome ideas at the time. Hopefully those are published by now.

Your dog died, which sucked, but you applied to adopt some kitties and were accepted. You lost 30 pounds… then gained 7 back over Christmas (Oops.) You fixed up a website for yourself… One of your significant others became a brewer… the other became a holiday card illustrator… and the other accidentally dyed his hair red. Your Dungeons and Dragons group just reached level 8 and they’re about to go hatch themselves a big ol’ egg. Yesterday you bought 19 tabletop miniatures just because you really liked how sexy they were. How’s that credit card debt coming?

Your Goals for next Year: Draw more. Read more. Write more. Get an agent.


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