I have no talent for precognition. I have no idea what tomorrow holds in store. I look to it in an equal measure of hope and dread.
I was wrong about nearly everything this year. That is quite a trick. It is almost a talent. I mean even a broken clock is right twice a day. Maybe next year I can be a broken clock.
Four more weeks to put 2016 to rest. The hourglass is refusing to yield. Time will keep seeping through my fingers. All I can do is try.