Unlike last year, I spent this new year’s eve stone cold sober, largely because I ate something bad the night before (most likely undercooked chicken). Still, it was a great night in the end because this time around I wasn’t Mr Lonely Bastard, and got to see the fireworks over Sydney Harbour with my dearest from a rather stunning vantage point in North Sydney.

That’s is a very crummy photo I took with my phone– no doubt you will have seen much more spectacular pics from the night since we in Sydney pride ourselves on spending a massive amount on fireworks here so that we can gloat over how much better ours was than everyone else’s.

As soon as the show ended everybody took off as quick as they could, which meant that there was a terrible traffic jam getting home (it took 20 minutes to drive there, 2 hours to drive back). That’s the last time I try driving in Sydney in the wee hours of the new year.

I’ve made no specific resolutions this time around, but on some level I guess I hoped I would find some untapped reserve of self-discipline in order that I should Get Things Done. I am, after all, going to be 40 this year, and yet still I’ve neglected to secure any kind of financial future for myself. It is therefore more pressing than ever that I work doubly-hard on the project which has occupied me these last few months. This week was to be a week of great strides, but instead I find myself this Thursday night sheepishly apologizing to my friend and boss that I have thus far achieved sod all.

Although I make no resolutions this year, there is an observation I would like to make, so that I might remember it in future.

When you’re pushing 40, procrastination is no longer cute.

I think I may be reaching that point in my life where I have to resist the urge to describe myself as a procrastinator, because it comes off a bit fatalistic (with a whiff of humblebrag, since I so often get away with procrastinating). I should rather acknowledge that I am sometimes indecisive, often lazy, always apprehensive about commitment, and terrified of failure. That’s less cute, but more true.