Every so often you get a few days like this, days when you are so busy that it all turns into a blur of lost moments.

We all have a much longer list of the little things we’ve let slip.

Suddenly –or maybe not so suddenly– I’m that guy who wears glasses…

But here’s the thing: I think it all comes down to one big decision. The decision to focus a little more. Focus.

A January One rolls around there is that omnipresent wave of idealistic endeavour that sweeps across my idealist-self and props me towards creative greatness.

It is the eighth time I’ve taken the time to write out the details of my year, each time I’ve done so a little different than the last. It is long. It is completely narcissistic. It is a gush of personal reflection on a year gone by for no other purpose than to do it.

It is in so many ways a terrible loss to literature that he passed, but it is so soon after reading his novel that for me my brain is still (somehow) processing it as just another an odd twist of that plot.