Busman’s holiday
This New Year’s was a bit of a busman’s holiday. David and I spent last night at the home of a friend who would otherwise have been alone. We had a lovely time, but as we made our way home in the wee hours this morning I couldn’t help but remember (ungrateful, solitary wretch that I am) that I am accustomed to spending New Year’s quietly at home, out of reach of the revelling types.
Got up a mite late this morning, as was only to be expected, and set to work on an e-book project (which I am not getting one red cent for, so my ex-employer can kiss my grits). I haven’t done as much as I’d like on that due to general fuzzyheadedness (no, I still don’t drink; lack of sleep), but I have done what I said I would, so the result is percolating into the SMTP ether as I type.
In passing, I am irked with Mobipocket Publisher. It had the utter gall to change my pretty .opf file, when all it ought to have been doing was reading it! I hate apps that do that.
I’m also irked with the Open eBook Publication Structure, to the point that I’m not sure how much I care to evangelize or support it any longer. It’s well past time some of the worst problems with the dratted thing were fixed.
As a number of bloggers have pointed out today, it’s time to do all those irksome comparisons among where we are, where we were, and where we’d like to be. I’m no less vulnerable to regret and frustration than anyone else. 2002 was in large part a year of drudgery for me. Necessary drudgery, admitted; drudgery in pleasant surroundings, admitted; drudgery that got me to a goal or two, admitted.
Nonetheless. Drudgery. I feel my energy sapped by it, and that bothers me.
My resolution for next year is to become more of a political animal. Voting clearly isn’t enough, not any more. I’m late to the party; I know it and I’m ashamed. But better late than never.
As a tiny symbol of this resolution, I got around to putting up the United for Peace yard sign from my more-committed neighbors today. (Paid for it, and added a donation as well, last week.) It isn’t much, but it’s a start.