And I wish you all the love in the world, but most of all, I wish it for myself.

Happy 2017! I'm happy it's the new year, are you? (Rhetorical question. This is my blog so you don't really get a say.) 2016 was rubbish. So was 2015. And 2014. For the sake of optimism I've decided to be superstitious and take comfort in the thought that bad luck comes in threes and therefore this year is set to be tremendous. (My superstitions end there though. Being superstitious is a lot like Tinder; you pick and choose which superstitions appeal to you/are convenient at the time and once they've served their purpose you can forget about them.)

I've decided 2017 is the year I will become a real adult. I'll get a job, regain my independence and maybe even learn when it is appropriate to make innuendo laden/flirtatious remarks and more importantly when it isn't. (That last one is just a maybe though. And learning doesn't necessarily mean I will put it into practice.) (Anyway a girl likes to hear if she's got a good bum, right?) Other 'real adult' regularities I'd like to achieve include wearing a suit (preferably not to court), getting a coffee to go because I'm really busy and need to be somewhere, and getting really drunk with workmates on a Friday after work.

In an ideal world (Which this isn't by the way. Need proof? Natalie Portman is married. And I'm not her husband.) the following would occur (and regardless of the rights and wrong is of this world these are my goals for 2017):
1. I get a full time job which I enjoy.
2. The DBS is successful and my tremors become manageable allowing me to live independently.
3. I move out of my parents home.
4. I get a girlfriend. And keep her. Even better if it's not against her will. (Obviously she's pretty. In order of importance: pretty, willing.)
That's just some of the stuff that would happen in an ideal world. Obviously world peace, an end to famine and probably the cancellation of Brexit and demise of Trump would happen too. (Democracy is like most ideals: a nice idea but totally fucking impractical.)

My year starts with a throwback to 2016: a hospital appointment in London tomorrow. It's for a review of the bone marrow transplant. I expect it will be a five minute conversation that could easily have taken place over the phone but they just want to see my pretty face as well.

After that there are a few nights out planned (including my switch on party which will feature nothing to actually switch on because the DBS was delayed but that's no reason to cancel seeing friends and getting drunk) and I plan on making a start to my list of goals. January blues? Not for me, not this year.

(The title is a lyric from Songbird by Fleetwood Mac. It's a beautiful song although admittedly not in keeping with the tongue in cheek tone of this post. And it's true; I wish all of you the best but most of all I want to enjoy my life and all it has to offer. If that makes me a bastard then a bastard I am.)