gentle whooshing sound

That was the year flying by, that was. Too weird. I'm barely used to it being 2005, and now it's over. The end of the year always does strange things to me: it's very odd, to think that it won't be 2005 again, ever, for any of us (unless major upheavals happen to our world, culture and calendar, which I suppose there's an off chance they might). I find myself doing strange rituals at new year: cleaning obsessively, finishing projects, making resolutions. Symbolic wossname. It's important.

Things achieved by me this year: a book publishing contract, two journal articles, a bunch of encyclopedia entries, a bunch of reading and movie-watching, a bunch of really good friends, a blog, a Pelican. Things achieved by other people that affect me: a niece, the Evil Landlord's garage. Things not achieved by me: a permanent job, an actual salary as opposed to a pittance, a romance, any form of physical fitness. Resolutions for the new year: work harder, write more, play less ShadowMagic, go to the gym. Simple, really.

Tonight is our semi-formal new year's party, at which I'm expecting 20-30 people, dressed to the nines, and clutching the makings of their favourite cocktail. The house is full of balloons, champagne, fairy lights, cocktail umbrellas, streamer guns and sparklers. I am uneasily aware that the amount of alcohol in the house is going to be perfectly ridiculous, which means that we shall not so much see the Old Year out as take it out back and shoot it before prancing upon its recumbent corpse. Probably while singing, drunkenly. As plans go, I've seen worse.

Happy New Year, all you witterers, and it's been a pleasure hanging out with you. Stick around, there's another year coming.