We Will Not Be Proclaiming Things This Year
This Is the Year of Not Proclaiming Things
Let’s not make proclamations about a new year. 2025 is not the year of anything except mistakenly dating things with a “-24” until well into March.
But if I want to practice anything this year, it’s getting back in the habit of pushing things out when they’re not quite ready. I’m stuck in so many areas, mostly creative and professional, because I want things to be as close to perfect before I feel comfortable working at them. Stories need to be outlined. Plans must be secured. Foundations must be laid. I need to know where a project is going if I’m going to spend time doing it.
I think there’s something to be said—maybe not enough said—about craft and polish and taking care to make something great. There’s also something to be said for chasing inspiration and farting around.
The irony of feeling like there’s not enough time to do all you want to do is that you waste even more time worrying about how there’s not enough time to do all you want to do.
So, I might fuck around and take up the Substack again. I can’t guarantee it’ll be the most riveting shit you’ve ever read, but it’ll be something. These posts may not be consistent, they may not be “finished,” and they may not be as considered or polished as they could be, but they’ll be.
On Christmas night, I danced for the first time in a long time. I wasn’t in public. I was just standing at my computer while my husband watched a Let’s Play on TV, and I was pumping a disco playlist I made last year through the $50 earbuds he gave me because I’ve lost two pairs of Air Pods.
Also, let’s have a tangent (I wanna have a tangent).
I fucking hate this move toward Bluetooth earbuds and headphones. I know the 3.5mm headphone jack was removed to make devices more waterproof, but the consequences are far-reaching and, like COVID, have further enshittified the experience of public spaces. You notice how people are listening to their phones out loud in public more? And do you notice how it’s often older people? I think they’re less likely to go for technology that doesn’t literally connect to their devices.
And as someone who has lost their Air Pods twice, I’m sympathetic. It doesn’t mean we have to commit acts of aural terrorism (that’s aural not oral).
Halfway through my dance party of one, I convinced myself I should try to learn how to DJ.
Don’t worry. This idea passed. I know I’m in my 30s and trying to embrace cringe, but some cringe must not be embraced. Enjoying yourself does not mean you have to take up a new hobby, and we all must remember that more often.
I find my brain is a lot more crowded and faulty lately. I’m not quite as sharp. I make more mistakes when I speak. Bits of trivia that used to be front of mind are accumulating at the back of my brain like a dirty clothes during a depressive episode. Maybe it was the COVID I got in November. Maybe it was doing edibles a grand total of 20-30 times in the past four years. Maybe it’s that I’m 31 and I’m not exactly eating as much brain food as I should. Maybe there’s nothing wrong. Maybe this is all fine.
But I’m also acutely aware these days of the dangers of telling ourselves “There’s nothing wrong.” Sometimes, it’s a cure and sometimes it’s a comfort. There’s a lot going on that can be salved, temporarily, by saying “It’s gonna be fine” even if it’s not. But it doesn’t mean there’s nothing wrong.
Anyway, stream “Jesus Keeps Taking Me Higher” by Jessica Chastain as Tammie Faye wherever you get your music.
What I’m Watching: I’ve broken from my five-year, self-imposed Oscar bait fast and have been seeing some of the Oscar contenders this year. Genuinely enjoying a lot of it, but The Substance is every bit as good as its acolytes say. The Traitors season 3 and Dungeons and Drag Queens season 2 coming out at the same time is an embarrassment of riches.
What I’m Reading: Recently, I listened to the audiobook of Kyle Dillon Hertz’s “The Lookback Window.” Pretty challenging read, and while I didn’t unequivocally love it, it’s got atmosphere. Also went back to read the audiobooks of some of the Ian Fleming James Bond novels. Absolutely as insane, racist, and misogynistic as I remember but in the most mundane ways, too. They really are just travelogues where something exciting threatens to happen every 50 pages—and these are short books.
What I’m Listening To: My Disco Macabre playlist, which is exactly what it sounds like.
The Red Sweater will be updated once per… let’s just say it’ll be updated once, periodically, until the end of time. It will cover developments in my life, work, and all the stupid little things I care about. More of my writing can be found...