I turned 46 years old today.

For weeks now I’ve been trying to talk myself into starting a “real” journal, something handwritten, maybe one of those bullet journal things people keep talking about. But here’s the thing: We don’t write things very often anymore. When I have to write more than a sentence or two—or, heaven forbid, a real note or letter—my hand cramps up and my penmanship goes from somewhat neat to horribly illegible very quickly.

So today I’ve circled back here to the blog I kind-of started. We’ll see how it goes. Part of me wants to commit to a plan, blog something every day for a year just to get back in the rhythm of it. Even just observations and daily humdrum. Maybe I will. Does this count? Let’s say it does.

A basic accounting since my last post, just for the record:

I’m still on telework. Covid-19 is still a thing. The first U.S. case of a more aggressive strain that has been rising in the U.K. was reported in Colorado today. As of today, more than 340,000 Americans have died from the virus or complications of it. Nearly 1.8 million worldwide. Those are deaths JUST from the virus. That doesn’t account for the people who’ve died of other causes, natural or otherwise.

Joe Biden and Kamala Harris have been elected president and vice president. Donald Trump is pouting and lashing out like a 3-year-old. We’re all anxiously awaiting the results of the Georgia senate run-off to find out if Mitch McConnell will continue to obstruct democracy.

My goals for 2021 include keeping my job, my health, and my marriage intact. My more specific and immediate goal is finding new living conditions, because being cooped up in this tiny apartment for the past 9 months has made me batty. My hopes for the new year include being able to see my son safely and more often again and being able to see doctors safely again as well, since the warranty on my joints seems to have expired.

Wow. This is fascinating reading. [cue eyeroll]

Well, I knew I was rusty. I’ll try again tomorrow.