I’m sure I made some sort of decision, probably around Christmas after a little drinkie when everything seemed shiny and possible, that I would do more blogging this year. And that doesn’t seem very likely to happen if I can’t even manage one post in the first week of the year. Honestly, self, FOR SHAME.
Anyway, here we are, the first blog post of an exciting new year. I say exciting as we’ve finally lost that blasted thirteen at the end and have a nice, sensible even number of year instead. Not that I generally mind odd numbers, but I’m not overly fond of three. It’s very scratchy. I’m looking forward enormously to the thirties, clearly. Hopefully by then I’ll be too old and grown-up and have much more important things to care about.
This post is supposed to be reflective about the past and then attempt some vague optimism for the year ahead. I’m sure it’ll go brilliantly.
So stuff in the past – this would be so much easier if I felt it wasn’t cheating to look stuff up – well, 2013 is going to stick in my memory as the year I got nominated for a Hugo, which was, frankly, amazing. That was on my List of Stuff To Do that I wrote when I was about twelve (didn’t know what a Hugo was then, but Dune had one, so it was clearly A Good Thing). The list is no longer with me, but I’m pretty confident I’m not going to be able to achieve the Going Into Space one. Not cause I’ve got any moral objection to stowing away on one of Branson’s Space Tourist Flights, so much as a profound fear of heights, excessive G-force and suffocating to death.
2013 was also the First Year of Verity!, a delightful podcast that I make with five other wonderful people that has been going for a little over a year now and proved surprisingly popular. I say “I make”…what *I* actually do is jot down when Deb says we’re recording and try and remember to be at my computer at that time. And then say words that mostly come out in intelligible sentences (as listeners can tell from my various sounds of yarg, I don’t always succeed. Don’t blame me; blame the false opinions on Doctor Who I have to listen to).
It’s been so lovely doing it though. None of the others live in the UK, so, if I’m very lucky, I’ll see them once or twice a year. Getting to have a splendid chat about Doctor Who every week or so has been marvellous. And having other people enjoy it, and go to the trouble of telling us how much they enjoy it, is just absurd, and wonderful.
Elsewhere, it turns out that Christmas in the company of a small child is more or less as magical as Christmas as a small child. I spent Christmas with my family, and my two year old niece was an utter delight, managing to guilt me into going outside in stormy wind and rain because, by gum, we had magic reindeer food, and if we didn’t sprinkle it on the grass, how would the reindeer know where to land?
I also managed to accidently probably not really but kind of traumatise her with Tom Baker’s face rushing out of the time vortex tunnel thing. I’m sure she’s fine. But given her reaction, I’m no longer suspicious of people who claimed that the opening credits of Doctor Who frightened them as a child.
On the less good side, 2013 was quite rubbish for my health, alas. There’s a problem with a lot of mental health narratives related to depression. They go a bit like this: you’re feeling rubbish, things are getting worse and worse, you have these symptoms, you don’t know what to do, life is falling down, you seek medical help, things begin to get better. Hurrah!
And then what happens? What happens when five or ten years later any reasonable hope of ridding yourself of your illness is gone and you’re probably going to have to manage the symptoms for the rest of your life? You get tired, and fed-up of the cycle. You know you’re going to feel better at some point (even if you don’t really *believe* it) but when you feel fine you know that it won’t last. Your coping methods are becoming less effective, you are weary, and frightened of feeling both terribly weary and terribly awful at the same time. Somewhat should really make a nice animation about that. Or cartoon. I’m sure it’d be v cheering.
So that was fun, learning to deal with that. But it’s getting easier. I’d totally give myself seven out of ten stars there.
And that’s what I remember, more or less.
Oh, and I played way, way too much Star Wars The Old Republic.
And the cat went blind.
And I visited the Alamo.
And I wrote a thing whilst dying of flu that I can’t talk about right now but rest assured when I can I will mostly be V Impressed At My Ability to Write Half-Decently Whilst Suffering Horrendous Chills/Feverishness.
Onwards! To 2014! Where fishes fear to tread!
The plan goes something like this:
-better time management re day job/nice job/time off.
-less guilt on days off.
It’s a brilliant plan! What could possibly go wrong?
Here’s a lovely dinosaur picture from Fascinating Pics:
Farewell, till next week! (I say, with a dash of heady optimism.)