I can't believe it's Christmas Eve already. I have about 5 hours to shower, pack, wrap my presents, gather my family's phone numbers, clean out my fridge and do anything else that needs to be done before leaving for Liverpool. Have a good holiday, whatever you celebrate, and have a good week if you celebrate nothing.

This is the latest in the month I've ever gone without making plans for New Year's, but the Hold are playing a house party on New Year's Day.

Last year, I also wasn't ready.

You won't believe what happened to me yesterday. Well, maybe you would. Maybe it's more common than I think, but I'd never heard of it. And no, I'm not talking about female ejaculation. That first happened to me years upon years ago.

I scratched my left eyeball with a toenail. That almost sounds kinky. It conjures up (if your mind is as dirty as mine) images of me twisted in all sorts of positions. Does it help clarify if I tell you it was my own toenail? That makes it even dirtier.

But, I assure you, it happened innocently.

I don't like long nails. I don't like when the white starts to show. I bite my fingernails, but biting my toes is gross, so I snip them. I cut my toenails at least once a week; about half as often as I bite my fingernails. I've never been able to manage nail clippers, so I use scissors. In yesterday's case, they were big staysharp kitchen shears, that hadn't been returned to their sharpening case for years. When I snipped the nail on my third or fourth toe, it came flying towards me instead of somewhere else in the room. I reacted, but not in time. When I blinked, my eyelid closed over the flying toenail, sucking it into my eye.

I immediately panicked (but only in my head). I kept thinking of that commercial where the boy gets dirt in his eye and his friend tells him not to rub it, it'll scratch. Flush it out with water and have a doctor examine it for scratches on your cornea. Oh no! My cornea. It's like having a pharmacist for your best friend. I just have my eye closed, letting it water hoping it will help the nail come out, when KC tells me to try to rinse it out with water. So, I go to the bathroom and splash a couple of handfuls of water in my eye. Now that it's wet, I can move it a bit without it hurting so much. I pulled down my bottom eyelid and there it was. A little half-moon cupping the eyeball. I went at it with my index finger. My first attempt didn't get it, but it got my finger gooey. The second attempt worked. I plucked it out like when you wet your finger to pick up some ashes that missed the ashtray. It felt gooey and scratchy for the next few days and all I could think of was my cornea. I hope it doesn't turn into an infection.

Two years ago, I was depressed.

I finally did it. I was beginning to think I never would. That would've been interesting. To be 62 and still have never had Taco Bell. That could be a claim to fame. But, I can't say that now. I had it for the first time Sunday night.

We walked in and things seemed familiar enough. It was, after all, a fast food restaurant. There was the counter, the bright menu boards, the tables, the condiment stand. Just like any other place. But I wasn't familiar with the food. I got the grilled chicken soft taco or whatever. It tasted good, but Andrew warned us. "Just wait until it turns into Taco Smell." He got 2 burritos. The rice was watery and crunchy. He ate the first one, thinking maybe the second one would be fine. It wasn't. He got two free chicken quesadillas that he shared with those of us at the table who eat meat. It pays to complain.

On the way out to the car, he told us it would be spicy coming out tomorrow. I'm sensitive to hot food, but I found the food mild. In the end, he was right.

Last year, I was obsessing over a burn on my hand.

I meant to get up two hours ago. Well, not today, but it's my new plan.
I'm going to start getting up at 10:00 through the week. It's not that early and it gives me extra time before work.
I'm going to make myself little schedules of the things I want to be doing but am not.
I'll have a set schedule like I'm in school, with more scheduled for the days I work later. I think it's the only way to force myself to change.
Actually have a set time to workout, do laundry, sort the boxes of stuff I have, and read.
But not today. I was up late last night watching stuff I normally watch that was on later because of the last episode of Survivor.
I purposely set my alarm a little later when it went off. But, I didn't turn it on.

You're funny.

(that's sarcasm)

Two years ago I talked about my first time meeting Horseface.

I miss you. No, really I do. I know it's hard to believe. I haven't made much of an effort to keep in touch. Hell, I hardly ever picked up the phone when we did see each other often. Being a recluse, I've been thinking. I think of you often even if you don't realize it. I miss the times we had. I don't know how to reconnect. I don't know how to pick up the phone. What would I say? How have you been? What have you been doing? Those are bullshit questions even if I'm sincerely interested. In some cases I am sincerely interested. In many other cases, it's just an excuse to start a conversation that likely won't go much farther. Once you ask how I'm doing and I say "the same old" there'll be nothing left to say. Sure, maybe we could talk about something. Some of the "yous" I'm missing used to be my favourite conversation partners, but some of the "yous" are people I didn't really talk to so much as people I had fun with.

I'm not fun like that anymore. I don't like the annoying, repetitive, talkative, run around, do what you say, like causing shit person I became when "having fun." But, it was fun and not all bad. I tried to banish the bad traits while keeping the good. I just ended up banishing them all. I don't know how to have fun anymore. I don't think I ever knew how to have fun without losing control under the influence of substances. Even as I child, I was bored playing by myself, but didn't know how to play with the other kids.

I'm suffering from that old familiar feeling of not wanting to do something wrong, so I just don't do anything.

Something happened to me this summer. It caused me to question myself, my interests, my motivations, and my relationships; my self. Now I'm struggling to crawl back up. To be the slightly confident, happy to accept who I am person I had finally become. Lately, I've been the broken little girl I was through most of high school. That's a little girl I'd like to kill.

Two years ago I was recovering from a weekend at the Seahorse (RIP).

That didn't work. That was probably the worst sleep I've had this year. No, that's not true. Those nights in the driver's seat of the rental van were pretty bad. So was that night on the ferry. Oh, and those nights in Toronto. Especially the night I seriously hurt my foot (I sometimes think I broke a small bone). I appreciate that those people opened their home up to us, and I had a good time, but the cushions from two chairs wasn't exactly comfortable for the four of us, even though we were all spooning each other. I guess a more accurate statement would be that that was probably the worst sleep I've had in my own bed this year. On the bright side, I think I figured out what's gotten into me. It's called "withdrawal."

Last year, I got my period.

What's gotten into me? Maybe I just need to sleep it off.

Two years ago, I wrote about my confusion of a term in a magazine, and started drinking 13 hours later.

Unsatisfied- The Replacements

Look me in the eye
Then, tell me that I'm satisfied
Was you satisfied?
Look me in the eye
Then, tell me that I'm satisfied
Hey, are you satisfied?

And it goes so slowly on
Everything I've ever wanted
Tell me what's wrong

Look me in the eye
And tell me that I'm satisfied
Were you satisfied?
Look me in the eye
Then, tell me I'm satisfied
And now are you satisfied?

Everything goes
Well, anything goes all of the time
Everything you dream of
Is right in front of you
And everything is a lie

Look me in the eye
And tell me that I'm satisfied
Look me in the eye
Unsatisfied
I'm so, I'm so unsatisfied
I'm so dissatisfied
I'm so, I'm so unsatisfied
I'm so unsatisfied
Well, I'm-a
I'm so, I'm so unsatisfied
I'm so dissatis,dissatis...
I'm so

Two years ago was the day after someone I love had surgery, but I didn't go visit him/her.

"That's not what I meant." How many times in my life have I said that or thought that? Far too many to recall. I always mean what I say to an extent, or at least I mean it when I say it. But, I also never completely mean anything. I'm usually trying to be a little funny. I know I'm weird and it usually makes people laugh. I also tend to exaggerate when I get emotional. But everybody takes everything I say so seriously. It's hard to take. It's hard when people think you're nothing but a negative creep, when really you're just trying to be light-hearted. I don't know. I can't even explain now what I'm trying to get at. People take me the wrong way. Nobody truly understands me, but some people think they do. That's okay, though. I don't really understand anybody, including myself. I'm giving up.

Two years ago wasn't even the beginning of the renovations that would take so long.