Happy New Year's Eve from the World's Nicest Pedant
New Year's Eve, and I think I'm ready to stop hearing, "Good riddance to 2020" and other variants that point to how bad a year it was. I won't deny bad things happen, but here's an idea: don't name it all. Don't name everything as good or bad. Just live it. And then maybe just maybe it won't seem so bad after all.
Forgive my prosaic slant but it's 4:35 pm, twelve full hours past my typical Hour of Inspiration. This morning, I was out walking in the dark in the rain and wearing black from head to toe during the hours when I used to be writing to you and for you. This evening, I was wandering around the house aimlessly. Somewhere in between I did a lot of editing. Now, that darn Bill guy echoes in my head. Bill says, "Write every day." And he's right. Just write. So here. Writing.
This the last blog entry of 2020, unless something big happens in the next seven hours, which it just well may. We have a new president coming. I know someone who is breathing their last breaths, right about now. I know several people struggling with COVID. A couple people I know are suffering crippling anxiety; one is about to lose her mom, the other has lost the dad she knew and loved. One young boy I know has recently discovered a goat simulator game and is wreaking havoc by destroying people and things in a virtual world. One young woman I know is in an upper chamber teaching herself a Taylor Swift song on an electronic keyboard. One guy busted his ass raking our back yard all day, and some other guy is driving him home right now because ... well, I don't know why the raking man can't drive. But he can't. Kosovo combat for ten years might have a way of changing the way you do things.
What is bad? What is good? We get to decide. Guess what? In the scale of good to bad that seems to be the measuring stick du jour, it's likely that 2021 will be worse, albeit with a different president who might know how to properly punctuate a sentence. However, for editors—pedantic, self-righteous people who judge the entire world by their ability to spell, punctuate, and clearly express themselves—things are looking up.
Goodbye, Illiterate. Hello, Heaven.