I'm done with this year.

No, it hasn't been all bad, and I still have absolutely no idea what next year will hold.

Still, for all extents and purposes, I'm done with this year.

I really have no more to accomplish in the next seven issues of the Toban: sure, I can make small improvements, but the rapidly accelerating passage of time is a sure sign that the insanity that has been the 19th year of my life is coming to an end, and it's time for next year's challenges. I know I haven't done nearly all I could this year, but I also know that I'm not going to cram it all into the next six weeks, either.

It's depressing, but liberating at the same time: without the pressure to improve on my dissatisfaction, I have time to enjoy the end of this year, make those small improvements, and hope that the multitude of balls in the air won't crash resoundingly around me as I wait for the year to close.

And have hope for the future.