I know many of you have posted happy happy photos. I just want to tell you how I started my new year. I saw an email from my bank (supposedly) that there was some seemingly fraudulent activity on my card. Well, I didn’t call the number on that email, I called my bank directly and found out that my bank card had been hacked. Lovely. So much for my first relaxing day in 2023.
It took around two hours to clear the whole thing up; trying to remember my purchases. Had I donated to a GoFundMe? Did I purchase electronics from Timbuktu? And on and on. The end result is my card was cancelled and a new one will be sent to me. I still couldn’t check my account online because it had been canceled and so I’ll have to wait until I receive my new number. Hope I remembered all the fraudulent charges correctly.
My friend Mabel messaged me a reminder to call this doctor and that doctor and order this thing and that thing and on and on. I practically had a panic attack just from reading her texts, even though I know she’s helping me. Isn’t 2023 supposed to be the year of calm? The year of happy? The year of “Shut the $$$$ up!”
Time for me to find a Disney movie to watch. One where Bambi’s mom doesn’t die, where Dumbo isn’t teased for his big ears, where Aladdin doesn’t remind me that the Genie, aka Robin Williams, is no longer on this planet.
Isn’t 2023 the year when we can actually break out of our isolation cages and interact with family and friends? Practically everyone I know has a cold, the flu, and/or COVID. Where is Dr. Fauci? Two of my friends went to Mexico and for the first week they’ve not been able to talk, eat or dance naked on the beach. Instead, they’ve stayed inside their condo and had the doctor make a house call…but…they posted Happy New Year photos of the beautiful beach sunrises and sunsets, even though I know they ushered in 2023 miserable.
My daughter sent me an Instacart gift for Christmas, so I don’t have to interact with anyone except the grocery delivery person. I love her future-thinking gift, as much as I love Mabel’s gift; a coffee cup that says, “I was normal three cats ago.”
That same daughter has, up until this year, sent me things to keep warm. Blankets, throws, a giant coat that could keep a dozen people warm (I hadn’t sent her my new weight loss sizes), a tent-like fleece-lined poncho that my kitties have adopted as their place to sleep. She’s been taking care of me in the warmth department since I’ve been back from the tropics. Now she’s onto food. Love her. Love her creativity and practicality.
Do I dare mention Stanley Tucci and how I hope that in 2023 his ad campaign for “Stanley Tucci, Searching for Italy” has gotten over him eating (anything!) and talking with his mouth full? He needs to stick to acting.
This last month or so (after watching movies/documentaries) I’ve wondered about my “legacy.” I know what I’ve done in life, but I’m pretty tight-lipped about things, except when it comes to WGTD adventures and my kitties, and maybe even my ex-husbands. My mom said that if you have to tell people about what good deeds you’ve done, it brings suspicion to your motivation. Just do it and don’t toot your own horn. It’s the deed, not the act.
I’m still pondering what’s a girl to do. Do I move to a horse/donkey rescue farm and muck stalls? Or be a groom for the horses? That might be impossible as I did that a couple of years ago and spent time grooming a giant horse. It was much harder than I remembered. I had just wanted to cuddle the horse not make him show-worthy.
Perhaps 2023 will be the year that I realize I’m not 23 years old anymore. Actually, I think my body has given me that message a few years ago. Perhaps it’s time to finish the rewrites on a couple of my novels?
What IS a girl to do?
I won’t bother to figure out how many votes will happen to take place to elect a Speaker of the House, especially since the GOP can’t figure it out (maybe they’ll figure it out by print time).
I think I’ll just get an Instacart order together and see how that works out.
Lucy Llewellyn Byard is currently a freelance journalist for the Record-Bee. You can email her at lucywgtd@gmail.com
