I'm supposed to write my resolutions now but instead I'm foggy, down and out from these stupid allergy pills that I have to take or my skin becomes a sea of hives and crawls right off my bones, shrieking as it slides across the floor and down into the heating vents. I'm at the point in winter in which I can no longer tolerate fabric softener, shower gel or perfume or in some moments plain old air.
At least it isn't exacerbated by incredibly dry Prairie air though. So I still win, right? Sadly my body shuns my native damp seaside air too, no worries. There will be no winners today, we've called a draw.
Shriek. Shriek. Shriek. It's silent but I feel the screams.
And Lochlan has put Wish You Were Here on repeat to soothe my brain at least, if my body is unwilling to unclench. It's the unintentional lullaby he chose for me when I was too young to appreciate it. It has changed for me over the decades, from not even knowing what the heck David Gilmour meant as he sang to knowing all too well.
And did they get you to trade your heroes for ghosts?It's still more of a comfort than most things, same as Lochlan is.
Hot ashes for trees?
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange a walk on part in the war for a lead role in a cage?
I will still end 2012 with no apologies. And I do have a handful of resolutions. The usual ones to eat better, but eat more pizza. Read more but read less online. Take better care of myself. Allow for more downtime. Draw more cartoons and draw less life. Drink more tea and less...erm..Everclear (BLAME MATTHEW). Wear the hearing aids to wring every last note and every breath out of all these songs and always, above everything, keep close to my boys. Get more Ben-time, somehow. Forgive my redhead when I said I have but then I act like I haven't. Be a better human.
I can do these things.
Happy New Year to you all. Thanks for reading. I'll be back next year, or tomorrow, as it were.