An early good morning, dear reader(s), according to the upstairs clock, I awoke this morning at 4:20 a.m. (though that clock does lag behind, I think). Not too concerned to be rising early, seeing as I conked out in my recliner last night around 8:30. So I’m feeling fairly well rested, and here I sit, listening to Q-FM on my headphones, sipping (cold) coffee, and gearing up for this year’s New Year’s Eve tonight. I’m assuming the plan is still on for Michael and me to go to the Arena this morning at 11:30 to get a tour before the 1:00 p.m. game against Chicago—last night he started to mumble something about not wanting to go, but dammit I’m going, even if I’m there alone! Something tells me he will be with me though.
Then there’s the Buckeyes vs. Georgia game, which I’m going to try and watch some (a somewhat touch and go situation, seeing as I didn’t watch most of the season this year because I got sick). I feel like I should be able to tolerate the game because my expectations are reasonably low that we can win this game—but as always with my beloved Buckeyes, anything can happen! I need to alert my Smith pal Britt to watch the game (if she isn’t planning to anyway). I’m tickled pink that she’s joined Buckeye Nation from Boston!
I’m kinda sad that I can’t turn to mindless scrolling on Facebook when the tension from the football gets to be too much. But I had to break from that platform when I got sick from it in October. I should spend some time reflecting on the bizarre chain of events that drove me to the nut hut on November 2 (and caused me to miss voting AGAIN) but honestly it just gets me upset to think about it. I think what angers me the most is I had been honestly starting to believe I would never have to be in a nut hatch again. But no. I had to go back, my 10th time, and this last visit was up there with one of the stranger ones I’ve had. I got threatened, the food was horrible, I cried several times, everyone had bizarre tattoos (including the staff). I was there 9 days I think. Maybe 10. Who knows. All I know is Facebook bears at least some responsibility but I’d have a difficult time establishing that in a court of law.
But anyways, I’m fairly OK now, December 31. My sleep is good. I’m out socializing with friends and family. I’m working on some new art projects. I hope to maybe find a volunteer activity in 2023. My house is shabby and desperately needs work, but I’m not obsessing on it—rather, I’m open to the possibility that someday Michael and I sell this place and find a ranch somewhere in Central Ohio…where, who knows, but I’m open to possibilities.
Dear, sweet Basset Sir Little Legs is getting old and I am so worried we will lose him in 2023. He’s 13 now, and my other two Bassets, Big Lou and Nell both passed at 13. I know Lily will be crushed when he’s gone, as will be Michael and me. We are getting too old to have another puppy, but I may have an idea for getting Lily a companion: Gigi’s dog adoption, run by George and Tina Skestos. Perhaps they will have a hound dog for us? We shall see.
So today marks the end of 2022, tomorrow the start of 2023. I’m closing out the year with Q-FM guiding the way…goodness knows where that shall take me. But I’ve been rocking to them for over 45 years, and have no plans to divert from this course. Non-stop iconic rock. Yup. Love it. Happy New Year all.
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