I exercised more, and I ate junk food a lot less, thus I became a bit healthier.

I even lost a few pounds, and a few inches around the waistline.

I won not one but two raises (with additional responsibilities, mind you) at my job.

I maintained the most important relationships in my life.

I kept the drama levels low.

I completed a public writing project.

I feel like, even though 2014 wasn’t very good to very many people, I did the best I could this calendar year.

I have no regrets going into 2015.

Here’s a new one on me: I spent a night of dreams romantically pursuing someone. Nope, no idea who, seems to be someone made up out of whole cloth by my dreaming brain. It certainly doesn’t correlate in the slightest to anyone I know. (Everyone may now breathe a sigh of relief!) Also, it was purely romantic, all those goopy gushy puppy-dog-eyes feelings. The frustrating part, though, was how things would seem to be going well and then, at some crucial moment, I’d jump into my mouth with both feet and make a mess of things with the dream-person.

Yeah, how would you like to experience that, over and over in the span of a few hours?

That’s not the entirety of the dreaming, mind you. There was also something to do with a book-and-music store with hidden treasures, some kind of festival, and other interesting scenarios for which the details have already mostly faded. Those parts were nice. But they’re not the parts which are sticking with me now that I’m awake. Go figure.

What do you expect from pizza dreams, eh?

In another in our impromptu series of posts detailing ways in which I’m broken, let me tell you about last night’s trip to the mall with Kyla. We went to a particular store looking for a birthday gift for one of her coworkers, and in this store one may find shelves full of candles and lotions and other smelly things.

Well, smelly to most people. We went through half a shelf of candles and I could only smell anything from two of them. Eventually I tired of proving how useless my nose is and we moved on.

I have, for all intents and purposes, no useful sense of smell. Some strong, unpleasant odors get through but almost none of the good scents do. Go figure, right?

Have you ever found yourself staring in amazement at a word and its definition, realizing that it describes pretty much your entire life?

Misophonia. It means you’re the kind of person for whom the sound of someone chewing, or tapping idly, or slurping is enough to drive you instantly and uncontrollably around the bend with frustration and some level of rage.

This post brought to you by our delightful neighbors at Party House, who decided that thumping base rhythms were an acceptable part of the neighborhood ambiance at two-thirty this morning. Yes, I genuinely cannot get to sleep if that’s going on. Everyone else around me can, though, so… I suffer alone.

Maybe it’s time to move.