Some people write newsletters at Christmas. Sometimes I even write newsletters. This year I did not write a newsletter, so now, in that dreadful trough between Xmas and New Years, I will do my best to make up for it. Well, not my best exactly. More along the lines of the comments I used to get in my grade school report cards: "Peter is bright enough but needs to apply himself if he wishes to achieve his full potential in class."
Things I did not do this year, but which will cause mille regrets on my deathbed:
Things I did not do this year, but which will cause mille regrets on my deathbed:
- Write a book. Write a decent short story. Write a coherent sentence.
- Go to France. Go to the Okanagan on a wine tour. Go to Calgary on business. Wait, I did that one. Only 99 things left to do before I die.
- Write a rather brilliant app that will sell in such quantity I can retire, except for the bug fixes, upgrades, tech support, OS ports... I guess I'm not too upset about this one.
- Get to know the intimate hopes, fears, dreams, and aspirations of all my friends and family to the point at which blackmail becomes my main source of monthly income.
- Construct any physical thing, with my own hands mind you, that could not be out-engineered by a palsied preschooler who ate his own gluestick.
- Played many a World War II video game.
- Read many a book. On World War II. Re-read point 1, above, for immediate application to my life.
- Supported the endangered comma by sowing it as liberally as possible into every paragraph I could get my hands on. Except this one.
- Contributed to the gradual but unstoppable fattening of the cat by feeding him every he asked, just to shut him up.
- Wondered how to get ahead in life without endangering my carefully constructed and finely tuned leisure infrastructure.
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