Perhaps I am being a touch rash in calling this conclusion -- it is November after all. We've still got about 54 days until 2011 arrives all fresh and perfect on our doorsteps. I can't help this nagging realization that 2010 was a wash-out for me.
I've heard the condition you find yourself in on January 1st tends to dictate the coming year. Me? I was upstairs in a hotel room, bracing myself against a violent stomach flu while I missed out on my sister's wedding reception.
If ever a darker omen for the new year existed, I would like to hear of it now.
So, 2010 was not the Year of the Moffatt. I reflect on this now as I stumbled across a so-called "Game Plan" I crafted in the 2009 NaBloPoMo. Hrrm, a good chunk of that list still intrigues me, though. Over the course of the year, I let myself stumble against old patterns, and I froze in the face of change. Both are traits I'd like to shake off, to be honest.
More than that, I've managed to isolate myself from important people. The trend started this summer, and its results are palpable now. Now is the time I feel like running away, which solves nothing, of course. That's probably the allure of it -- a fresh start without fixing those loose ends.
Maybe its the stubborn remnants of my cold speaking. I had one of those ominous dreams last night where a character comments on something hitting close to home. A musician was sitting under a bridge with an acoustic guitar, and some girl (not I) came to insult him. Anyhow, he leveled this look at her, laughed, and said, "This from the girl who has never even lived outside her city. Who has never even been abroad. This from the girl who still cries over that absence at her parents' dinner table."
I know, it's weird dream speak. It all made sense as he was talking. I was his friend in the dream, but he didn't realize how much that comment struck me, too.
I have a lot of hard thinking to do in the next few weeks. This time, I need results.
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