I do worry that quite a lot of pressure has been put on the arbitrary assigning of dates to days of the year. It seems that the transitional period between last night and this morning is bundled with quite a lot of hope for quite a lot of people. As though as soon as we turn to a new calendar with three hundred and sixty five blank days ahead of us, it’s better than the old one with the better part of two hundred and seventy six blank ones behind us.
I normally write, somewhere around here, a load of guff about how I could have done better last year and how I should do better this year. And it’s the same for this time round as it is for every time. I could have done better, I should have done better, I didn’t do better.
I’ve not had a great day today. I don’t know why. I’ve just not been feeling it at all. Any of it. It’s not been truly terribly, but it’s not been brilliant by any stretch of the imagination. Just one of those days that can sod off and tomorrow will probably be better. A down day, if you like. But if I’d put all my energies into this mentality that’s all across social media that 2020 can die in a fire and 2021 is going to be outstanding, I’d be in tears in a corner, rocking. Because based on the evidence so far, 2021 is no better than 2020 in all honesty.
Except that there’s a chance I won’t be back at work for long enough for my brain to adjust so I don’t write 2020 on any paperwork by accident. And by paperwork, I just mean track and trace forms. But it’s fun to make them sound like something more.
I have, however, taken a few steps for my own sanity this year.
Facebook has been banished.
I’ve still got an active profile, and I’ll drop in every now and again to check I’ve not been hacked or any of that bollocks, but otherwise I’ve shifted it several swipe screens deep on my phone, inside a folder in which it is, again, several swipe screens deep. It’s not just a quick button press to find out how fricking stupid, racist, homophobic or otherwise insanely bigoted someone I know is, Now to do that I have to make several moves, and at each turn I can say no and come back. It’s such a laborious process to get there that I have plenty of time to tell myself it’s not worth it. I like that. I like that I’m not constantly clicking on there for no reason to see that someone thinks Corona virus is linked to the 5G phone network, or that Nigel Farage would be a great speaker at a careers day or some other load of old tosh. Or the fact that some profiles are so exquisitely managed to paint a picture of day-to-day life that is so idyllic when the reality is something completely different but hey, if it looks good on the sosh meeds then it’s gonna get some likes.
All that shite.
Can’t be arsed with it.
I’m still on Instagram. I’ve kept that.
For now. We’ll see how long that lasts.
And, hopefully, we’ll see a bit of an uptick in mental health.
We’ll certainly see less posts about how everyone is glad 2020 is over.
Happy New Year kids….