I’m starting to think that years are like Star Trek movies: only the even ones are good.

2005 blew. Big time. My writing group became a drag, my job was a drag, the fertility thing was a big drag. Whatever man said that making a baby was fun never went through IVF, and he sure as hell never had sperm removed from his testes the hard way. My scrotum is still angry with me.

We buried my grandfather at sea in March of 2005, and we buried Anne’s grandmother a week before Christmas (and Cuma’s 91st birthday). My contract was terminated the same day we found out that we weren’t pregnant, so that was like a kick in each testicle. Are you sensing a theme here? I think 2005 ought to be the Year of Scrotal Abuse.

2005 was good for a lot of my friends, though, and I’m happy for that. Two new babies, with some more on the way. Some new gigs, some gradulating, some engagements. A major motion picture in the can (make sure to cheer when you see Ken Gimpelson’s name during the credits for King Kong). That’s good stuff; it means 2006 can only go up.

2006, I’m going to get published. I feel it in the ol’ scrote. Something I’ve been working on is going to stick and make someone money, possibly me. The Fictionados are going to take over WorldCon, and our podcasting thing will be mighty.

2006, I’m going to start The Novel. I won’t talk about it, except to say that it starts with a kite and pornography. I’ve said too much already.

2006, we’re going to become parents, somehow. I’m still holding out for the Chinese medicine to help, though I think my taste buds will go on strike if I have to drink that tea for longer than three months. You know how people say you can get used to anything? They lie.

2006, Anne will find her dream job, which means I can write full time until the kids are born. Then I’ll be lucky to write anything longer than a shopping list.

What else do I hope for in 2006? Peace on earth, weapons inspectors for all, calmer heads to prevail in the Mideast, and impeachment. No, make that Impeachment. This is, after all, the office of the President we’re talking about. We need to show respect before we send the Executive Branch out of the halls of government and into the stocks so we can pelt them with rotten vegetables. I wouldn’t mind a new governor for California, but I think the current lummox will get to keep his job for another four disastrous years. Whatever happens, political-wise, it’ll involve me getting enough junk mail to choke an elephant. I predict I will get no less than 100 fundraising requests from Hilary Clinton as she ramps up for a train wreck run for the White House. God save us all.

So, adios 2005. It’s been real.