My predictions for the year ahead. You’re going to feel lonelier and more anxious about the future. You’re going to look around you in horror at the world. You’re going to have more problems with your family. You’re going to hate your lover for nothing, and drive her mad. You’re going to hate your neighbours too, and suspect them of extravagant evil. You’re going to despair that you’ll ever be free of your childish addictions. You’ll feel no gratitude for your life, sicklied over with the pale cast of thought, the wonder of mere existence will pass you by. Your pleasures will be as ashes in your mouth. Your work will seemeth to you a cruel and hollow momentum. The earth will appeareth to you a sterile promontory, the sky, look you, this most excellent canopy the air, a stale and pestilent congregation of vapours. Man will not delight you. No, nor woman neither.

Finally, you’ll see all this, take action, murder the usurping king, and die.

Happy 2025, my prince.