It’s the end of the year and I so wanted things to be different. I wanted to be on the brink, on the verge. AT THE END.

Or at least at the end of the end: the end stretch, with the ending in sight or the endgame about to begin –

Have I said the word ‘end’ enough times yet? I keep thinking and hoping that somehow it might be like Satan. Or Voldemort. If you just say the freaking word often enough then it somehow, magically, finds you.

But, sigh. Not to be.

Never mind. There’s a new year approaching (apparently, people keep saying) and maybe this new year will bring resolution of more than one kind… If I solemnly swear, like a good girl, to glue my fat butt to the chair (with no tweeting or internet boggle) for seven-hour stretches three days a week will you please, please (God, Satan*, Voldemort… whoever’s listening) resolve all my flippy-flappy plot strands somehow into something resembling an ending?

You will? That’s great!

See you in 2014…

* Satan, I was just kidding about you. Don’t help me. Oh, and please don’t visit me either.