I wish I hadn’t created my blog with a start date of January 1st 2004. I first had the idea of writing an anonymous blog about my sex life back in October 2003, and for some reason - most likely because I am weirdly anal (I mean that in the pedantic, not sexual sense, obv.) - I felt that beginning at the start of the year would be most fitting for a first entry of a sex blog, so I waited a few months, gagging at the bit, before publishing that initial post.

However, now, twelve (12?!) years later, the January 1st start date really annoys me and I regret not beginning this blog months prior. I’ve historically done a post on this date every year, trying to sum up my previous twelve months into one single blog entry, and it could have been any date I picked on which to start - I could be summing up my year to July 6th, for example - but stupidly chose the one day annually where everyone and their cat writes something about their previous year.

Today, you can’t move for Facebook status updates of people musing on “lessons learned” or things they’re grateful for, or resolutions they hope to achieve (because obviously annual promises made in public will be kept). Twitter’s even worse with its new-year-new-me lists and the needy-ego-stroking tweets that make up the “best selfies’” contributions. Maybe people like this stuff, but I find it immensely irritating; I just don’t care. It’s another meaningless day in the calendar and people’s public need for external validation is just grating.

But then, I have this blog - where every (well, almost every…) intimate and personal activity of mine, over many years, has been posted for all to read and ponder. Hey, if I have been good at one thing, it’s over-sharing, right? (And, perhaps, blowjobs.) Maybe I’ve just grown out of the desire to share so much publicly with strangers and am more mature now; or maybe I’m just boring and old and posting on an almost-dead twelve-year-old blog, which is unremarkably ancient in today’s social media age, and am out of touch with what other people enjoy online. Ymmv, as they say. Thank fuck for the mute/unfollow button, is what I say.

Anyway, I find myself here again, wanting somehow to sum up the past twelve months as I have similarly done for the last twelve years, but frustrated that in doing so, I’m having to participate in the valueless annual “New Years’” charade. And, quite honestly, who gives a shit? But, as mentioned earlier, I’m anal in my need for order and repetition, and posting something here is mostly for me, so I have a record of time passing, than it is for people to find interesting. So if you’re reading this dull entry, sorry: there won’t be any hot sex in it. I had some this year, if you must know, but I made promises not to write any details, and I’m a woman of my word.

To sum up: it’s been a tough year, which is the understatement of the year. It was shittily shit. I got down, I came up, I got fit, I got fucked. I didn’t have anyone steal my heart (I’m not quite ready to give it away again), but I was reminded that my brain is as sexy as my hard thighs and also that my appetite is a good thing, not bad. I didn’t publish as much writing as I wanted, but I have a handful of projects I worked on and of which I hope a few will come to fruition this year. I tore my quadricep tendon and fractured my foot, but neither have stopped me running, because running is what keeps me alive. I tried to be a good friend and be more present with family, but both of those I could be better at. I attempted to avoid online battles and ignore personal attacks when they were thrown in my direction, because life’s too short - and those things fill me with anxiety. I slept too little, didn’t love myself enough, and realised that whilst anger and pain eats at the soul, joy nourishes it. I hope to spend the next twelve months in pursuit of all things joyful. Here’s hoping your 2016 is filled with happiness too.*


*And lots of shagging. Please god let there be loads of that this year.