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    • CommentTimeJan 4th 2010
    Every year I write myself a letter for New Year's Day. It is slightly banal, but it makes me happy and gives me somethings to look for every January first when I'm convinced that I forgot to write the letter to myself last year. and the year before. and the year before that.

    I kind of fucked up the searching for envelopes part last year when I organized all of the letters and put them into a box that I can find with ease whenever I want it. Seems to be kind of a drag now. Except: last year I just wrote a thing, a meaningless poetic stream of words for myself. A gift, if you will. And it was glorious to find and read. I am feeling like this is a good habit to perpetuate regardless of the day or date.

    Because it occurs to me that part of the fun of the annual letters was not that I had anything mind-boggling to say, but it was nice to find them, strewn about the place. 'Strewn' is not the right word here, but I felt like typing it. I found them in craft boxes, as bookmarks, in the occasional cookbook, once I found one in my old school papers. It was a nice thing to do for my future self.

    So, the idea is to make pretty word blocks on nice enough paper, put them in envelopes and stick them around places with some randomly chosen date on the front to indicate how long to wait until they can be opened. P'raps I will even make colorful things or little drawings to illustrate my little pretty word blocks. (It is almost too bad that I do not know the web well enough to do that online, though not really, I spend waaaay more time off than on.)

    I've got the living room painted, got to eat my bean soup for the new year's good luck and there has been much reading of unknown work already. I'll keep busy in my small ways this year living in my home, giving it a shape in the future.