A new year, 2011

I can see half a dozen fireworks from my rooftop at midnight. The city’s display at Penn’s just ended, and so would have been about 16 minutes, but other displays continued. I huddled under blankets in my jacket, and in that manner was not too cold. Last year, there was a cold rain, and I only watched for a couple of minutes.

I have made the new year’s resolutions to be in bed at midnight, and not to dawdle at the computer in the morning before showering, so as to be able to get to work a little earlier sometimes, or be less sleepy. Having written this, and on the perhaps specious reasoning that someone will read it at some point, I may be more likely to adhere to these plans. For good measure, I have also told people. It is past midnight now, but it is a weekend and a special circumstance, and exceptions are allowed for either. Still, I will resume, in bed, my reading shortly. I’ve read two books this year—last year—by Henning Mankell, The Man from Beijing and now Daniel—a followup, I’d assumed, but actually written ten years ago and just translated. I’m half way through, but it’s absorbing, and I’ll finish tomorrow.