So won't you light up the night?

This has been a very clothing-oriented holiday season so far, which is fine by me; several favorite pieces had perished this fall, which is what happens when one goes clothes-shopping about once very four years. Thus I am now the proud possessor of a pair of bronze-green corduroys, bluejeans, a sage-colored turtleneck, another turtleneck and corduroy jacket in a sort of virulent teal (from my brother's godparents), a black My Favorite t-shirt (from lesser_celery), and a pair of fuzzy socks in the amazing shade of new pondweed (from friends of the family). Between Christmas and Hanukkah and all the people I know, I spent yesterday clothed entirely in holiday gifts. I'm not sure I was ever able to do that before. But I also stayed up past three in the morning last night with John C Wright's Orphans of Chaos, which reminded me equally of Diana Wynne Jones' Archer's Goon (and Eight Days of Luke) and Roger Zelazny's Nine Princes in Amber, and disappointed me only in that I now have to wait for the second half of the story to come out; and my brother got me an IOU for The Haunting of Cassie Palmer. And the rest of my family liked what I got them, which was reassuring. Just because I live off books and music doesn't mean everyone else on the planet thinks that way . . .

Everyone else on the planet, however, should bow down to lignota: because linked from her livejournal, I found the New Year's resolutions of Aziraphale and Crowley. This is awesome beyond belief.

The tree is still glittering with tinsel. The candles have been lit. I'm writing poetry; and angels and demons all have better New Year's resolutions than I. All's right with the world.