Every time I write, I find myself writing about the passage of time. It's this day, it's this month, it's this new year. Arbitrary, maybe. But that's what happens. I go to the fridge and I look at the expiration dates. Most of the things are past the expiration dates. I eat the things anyway. I get sick.
I was on the road for so long, I forgot how it felt to be in my own bed. I can't believe the people I know. And I really can't believe they put up with me.
It's the new year, and so I'm making promises to myself I likely won't keep. I think it's good to have goals. And sometimes, I think it's just as well we give up on them.