The most powerful thing in the world is the urge to scratch an itch.
That was the moral my mind Aesop-ed up this morning after I’d given in to the pull of the irate, scratchy bumps on my legs, attacking them with all the vigor of every animal from three pages of angry animal YouTube compilations (yes, many exist).
I didn’t care if I wouldn’t get to wear dresses or shorts for the next few days. I didn’t even care if I had to wear a dress later today and give everyone a live viewing of Yayoi Kusama’s Red Dots – Red Dots”) painting (I counted more than 50 bumps). The itches had to be dealt with. And once they were dealt with, the relief was delicious.
My weekly journal has reached the end of its first week and I’ve been making an effort to make it look relatively pretty, or at least give it more character than a few lines of text. I haven’t done a weekly planner in years but I felt like attempting it again this time around. Initial impressions: I’m going back to a freeform journal next year. There’s so much I’d like to put that just can’t fit into these tiny spaces, so I’m confined to putting the most important agenda and leaving the long narratives to my OneNote journal. Which… I guess is as it should be?
Yes, I’m still hung up on 2022. Since it's January and we'll all still be accidentally writing 2022 for the next few weeks before we get the new year in our systems, I'll spend a bit more time looking back at last year and reflecting. Here's part one of my something things from last year.
…are the only thing I’m good at. I wrote something similar a few years ago, on another of my many blogs — or attempts at blogging — bemoaning my lack of discipline and failure to see an end to things I started. The post ended with a list of things I started but never finished and the very edgy, “I'm a type B person masquerading as a type A.” And then a promise to update the list of things. Which of course I never ended up doing.