Looking up, Belated Epiphanies

Happy New Year!
What a late start to the blogging year. Past the First, almost to Epiphany!
I'm about ready for an epiphany myself--are you too?--after the world failed to end with the Mayan sunset and we all have to find something productive to do.

In excuse for this tardy New Year's post, let me say this last short while has been an onslaught of missed or belated epiphanies. Are things looking up?
I look up from my preoccupation with holiday goodie-making, and the weather is terrible and we must be on the road now to get to Anchorage to pick up Phil's granddaughter.
I look up from trying to get work done amid holiday stuff, and realize I haven't been managing my self-care, and whoops--my moods and physiology are all over the place.
I look away from angsting at the scale going up for no reason at all, check in with this feeling in my middle that I've been ignoring, and lo, I have a bladder infection I've been ignoring, inflammation, water retention, and it actually really hurts.
I look up from talking with my mom on the phone, and there are four moose in our yard--the most I've ever seen--on the wrong side of the fence, eating on all the trees and shrubs we've been trying to keep them out of. Since I only got my iPhone yesterday, I could barely figure out how to take photos of them while failing to chase them out. (Banging some pans together finally sort of worked, the photos didn't.)

The once happiest man I ever met backs away, saying he's spent. Did I spend him? Or did I waste him?

I've put in time at various institutions where the items you're allowed to keep are about like what you're allowed in the cabin of an aircraft.
I spent most of the holidays in a place where even shoes with laces and journals with ties were out; even toothbrushes and toothpaste were verboten: see the disposable toothbrush below with a blob of gel you squeeze up. My own hairbrush had a hollow handle and was out; my own socks were mid-calf, and only ankle-length were allowed. There was no monitoring of lavatories, but all other doors were locked.

How much more to tell of that story is a dilemma with which I'm wrestling, the writer in me desperate to explore (not "exploit") the experience artistically; the person in me just. so. very. ashamed and embarrassed.
If nothing else, this was obviously a great opportunity to reflect, and to set some intentions, and I may share some of those when I'm more together. What are you guys intending for this year?

Is it light at the bottom of the well or water at the end of the tunnel?
And yet, there is love. Always, love.