Inspired by some of my writer friends, I tried to jot down a few thoughts about, and reflections upon, the past year. I'm not saying this is even remotely good. But whatever. I tried, right?
‘Twas the night before ’09 and I had no fear.
Could it really get worse than it had this past year?
Things started okay—well, as much as they can:
I had a great kid and a wonderful man,
My family, friends, health, home and plenty of food.
I know that I should have been in a great mood.
But alas, for this writer, assignments were slight.
Even with my teen novels the cash would be tight.
And then my poor hubby’s job seemed to be done.
(He once worked for Lehman. Yup. You know the one.)
I gained twenty pounds and my first novel tanked,
With each big, fat suckball my heart fully sank.
But wait! What is this? Why, I’m feeling quite happy.
Could it be all the Zoloft that’s making me sappy?
Um, no. Not at all. Things are so looking up.
I’m getting assignments and making big bucks!
My husband’s still working! Enough with my drama!
Our president-elect is Barack Obama!
So here’s to the New Year and all that it brings.
I’m feeling like life will be full of great things.
And if I have problems or whine or complain,
Just tell me to stop ‘cause I’m being insane.
I don't need perfection; I'm fine with alright.
Happy ’09 to all, and to all a good night.
Yeah. Um. That's all I've got.