Finally. 2021. I’m so ready for this new year. I’ve taken down my tree and put away all the holiday decorations. I’ve toasted to hope and better days with more than one glass of bubbly.
Are those better days here at last? If they aren’t, don’t tell me. I’m wearing my hopeful face and telling 2020 not to let the door hit it in the ass on way out. Okay, fine. The life-saving Pfizer and Moderna vaccines are rolling out at the speed of a drunk snail on ground glass. Congress is in turmoil. The protests never stop.
Still, I’m hopeful. I’m seeing the light way down there at the end of an interminable tunnel. Because that’s how I roll. My non-romance-reading friends don’t understand me. They say I’m a fool, a dreamer, blind to reality. Ask me if I care what everybody else thinks of my rosy view of days yet to come.
Nope. I don’t care what anybody thinks. I see better days ahead. I’m going to binge watch Bridgerton and then rewatch The Queen’s Gambit. After that I’m starting the first book in my brand-new series for Harlequin Special Edition about three half-sisters raised on their eccentric aunt’s Oregon farm.
It’s all in your viewpoint. And from here in Rimmerland, life is good.
Happy New Year, all you wonderful people. Mask up, stay safe—and read, read, read!
Till next month,
Posted by Christine on Friday, January 8, 2021