“May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art — write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.”—~ Neil Gaiman (via gatekeeper)
So it’s New Year’s Eve, which I guess is our societally-accepted time for reflection. I failed at writing a daily blog. I succeeded at passing my first semester of college. I have still yet to be picked up by a certain blue box (although I did see it laying in a truck bed downtown, goddammit). I learned how to post gifs in text posts (3 minutes ago).
I went veg (like three million million of my fellow sort-of-eco-conscious-sort-of-apathetic young adult peers). Oh. Graduated high school last spring. Volunteered. Stopped fucking caring about the news. Started again. Celebrated DADT’s repeal. Got Netflix. Watched far too much Doctor Who. And Buffy. Got a Tumblr. Which I suppose is paramount. Made new friends. Didn’t lose many old ones. Looked at the stars. Learned more about myself. Learned more about other people. Learned. Grew. Laughed (god, so much). Loved.
I had a pretty good year. Not the best in the whole wide world for the rest of my life and forever and ever. But nothing to complain about. I lived.
“On every world, where ever people are,
in the deepest part of the winter, at the exact midpoint
everybody stops, and turns, and hugs
as if to say - well done, well done everyone
we’re halfway out of the dark.”—Kazran Sardick (via whospam)