It has been an eventful year, to say the least.
Personally, I've been through a lot. In the last year, I died, and somehow -- thanks in large part, I believe, to a good friend who stayed with me through the worst -- came back. Three of my clients (or their publications, to be precise) died, and they didn't come back.
I have reduced the size of the space I occupy on this planet to the absolute minimum. That's not so bad, but even so I am deeper in debt than I was at this moment 365 days ago.
My profession is, I fear, on its last legs. When it is gone, I have no idea what will come next.
I have seen the wealthy bailed out by the government, which intends to send the bill to me. And to you, too.
And, perhaps most unpleasant on a personal level, I remain alone.
The latter tends to take away enthusiasm for the continuing struggle. And a struggle it will be, as everything I can see suggests that 2009 will be no improvement, will in fact be worse. Not only for me, but for everyone who isn't in line for bailout money or "stimulus" payments.
As I write this, it is 2009 on the East Coast. I have heard that the revelers are out in force there. Some are even celebrating here: a few of my neighbors, well-lubricated as usual, are whooping it up.
Maybe they know something I don't. Or maybe, more likely in my view, they know nothing and blindly go on, thinking all will hold together as long as they can get their hands on Mr Cuervo's distilled cactus juice. I have long since realized that liquid stimulus may make you think things are better, but actually does nothing to make it so.
Tomorrow, I'll sit down to work again, doing work that no longer holds much pleasure for me, work that is not valued to any meaningful extent by those for whom I work. People will demand money from me; they will be disappointed, and will react in whatever way they choose.
I'll put on a front as much -- and as long -- as I can. I'll post cat pictures (because, after all, I love cats), and scenic photos, and whatever I think will interest people. I will try, whenever possible, to put the best face on things.
But, when you come right down to it, I can't work up much optimism for 2009, and fear that the entry that appears here one year from tonight will not be any more cheerful than this one.
I think it's time to go to bed. One can't be as depressed when one is asleep. I'll be sorry to miss Art Bell's year-end show, during which he takes predictions for the next year from his listeners, and discusses the results of last year's predictions. That's always seriously strange....
Tomorrow, they say, is another day. Then, I will look for the miracle that proves me wrong about the impending New Year.
If nothing else, I hope 2009 will at least be good for those whom I love, those I care about, and those I simply like.
I've said it before: in reality, misery does not love company.
So have a good New Year.
17 hours ago