Resolutions Unresolved

The new year, she is not so different. It’s like 2006 put on a hat.

I wanted to start off with Ye Olde Resolutions for the New Year, but I have been putting it off because it requires me to look at last year’s resolutions. I don’t enjoy staring my failures in the face; I’m more of a ‘duck behind a lamppost and walk quickly in the opposite direction with a newspaper over my head’ kinda girl. Resolutions get mad when you don’t call. They fester, they get bitter; they bide their time like supervillains in Arkham until the new year pops up, when they smugly remind you that (unless someone paid you untold riches to watch all those CSI marathons) you are one year further from making that first million—and one year closer to a cold hole in the ground.

And on that note…

The 2006 Resolutions

I will learn French, that I may speak it in Paris. OK, so far so good. I have been learning French; I speak it about as well as a high school freshman, but hey. One down.

I will do more yoga. I did yoga several times last year. Several. More than ten. Less than fifty. OK, less than twenty. Baby steps, y’all. I am more limber, though, so maybe that was the goal here.

I will take a class. French class. Can I double up?

I will see Europe again. Um, didn’t. But I did see Colorado—and I had to get on a plane again for that! If you had been on my last flight, the 9:30 from O’Hare to Detroit: Christmas Week ’04, then you and I would share reverent moments over beer like veterans. I have never been so positive that I was going to die in my life. I had my book open to the same page for forty-five minutes of straight turbulence—afraid to move my arm, breathe, or glance at any word that might make the plane lose its battle with the Stonewall Jackson of air currents—and I overcame that, dammit! I recovered from losing six years of my life in less than an hour and took four separate flights! I’m counting this as a win, not least because Europe is more of a dream than a goal (the goal will be to afford it).

I will reach my target weight. The one thing I did completely unequivocally. Except I reached it, then let it go again. Eh, I’ll get it back. Eventually. [This subject used to bother me a whole hell of a lot more than “eh, whatever,” so I’m taking a bonus point.]

I will brush up on my guitar. I believe, once, this summer, while reaching for a dress in the back of my closet, I brushed some dust off my guitar. Yeah, big fat -1 here.

I will have more sex this year than last year. So basically, I will have sex this year.
Hee. Hee hee hee hee HA hee HA HA HA HAAA [snorf!] HA AHA HA!!
Hee. Ahhh. [sniff] Hee.

I don’t think I can be a nice person, but I’ll try not to be mean.
Actually, I think I’m up on this one. I can’t remember being overtly cruel this year—bear in mind it could be more faulty memory than actual change of heart. I’ll err on my side, though, because I know what’s coming next.

I will submit writings on a weekly basis.
Yarsh; I think I cracked a molar with that cringe. You know, it’s not really the fact that you haven’t done all that you said you would—it’s those things you have absolutely no excuse for not accomplishing that really bite you in the ass. That would be this one.

I will, will, will get published this year. Somewhere.
Watch this. Watch carefully, watch what I do here… ready? “I submitted something at the end of last year, so if goes up, I will technically have published in 2006.” I know, right? Isn’t that amazing? Have you ever seen rationalization and denial working in such perfect harmony? And that’s without a net, y’all!

Also, I will read the following books: The Outsiders, She’s Come Undone, The Little Locksmith, Girl, Wicked I read not one of these books, but I did read 28 others that looked way more interesting. So there; I achieved something that wasn’t even a concrete goal—I read 28 books last year. I probably can’t keep up with Doppelganger, but thanks to her, my list keeps growing.

All right, so the only thing that really brings me down is my dearth of submissions. There was only one story that I would call ‘official’ in the whole of last year, meaning it was written for (and deadlined specifically to) a potential publisher. And let me tell you, it was hard. It was harrowing. It gave me nightmares. Sending it in was one of the most fulfilling things I have ever done. It exhausted me. It wasn’t fun. It didn’t feel like fun. It felt like building a house, or writing a term paper, or moving heavy furniture: taxing and necessary, with enjoyment only in hindsight.

It also scared the shit out of me. Not because of the worrying about whether it was good enough, or if it would be accepted—but because sitting in front of my laptop typing, talking to myself, retyping, pausing, thinking, not noticing that six hours have passed and I haven’t eaten yet? Was awesome. And since I tend to feel the opposite of whatever emotion I should be feeling, I panicked—because I loved it. I think I shut down for a bit afterward, and let the exhaustion carry me through two whole months (granted, one was December, so it’s not like it was restful, but hey, lazy is lazy). I felt like a cadet who just hit his first bullseye—he doesn’t have time to be proud, he’s too busy shitting kittens on his way to the German front. I did the training; now I need to suit up for the real thing. Which leads me to…

Resolutions 2007

Write everyday. And why not? If I can find time to eat everyday, I better be able to write.

Perfect French.
Hmm. Maybe I’ll polish it first, then perfect.

Floss. ARRRRGH—okay. Okay, okay. I know. It’s hard.

Submit once a month. This is actually feasible; it’s finding the sites that would take me, that’s the bitch of it. Hey!
No, really. Yeah, yeah—you’re talkin’ to a whole new man here. I got it, move on.
I know where you live. Don’t you wanna talk about my dog or something?

Walk your dog once a week, you rotten pet parent. Better, damn.

Give up meat. What?
You heard me. I’ll… try. Really. I like health, so yeah.

Yoga. ARRGH. It’s like flossing with my whole body. It makes me feel better though, so, agreed.

Donate to charities more. This only makes me feel marginally less of a shitheel, but that’s not why I do it. It’s not about me. Yes, you now have that in print. I will give what I can when I can.

Keep the weight off. I gained seven pounds in the last three weeks. Between Christmas and New Year’s I ate like I was angling for the lead in GACY 2: The Extremely Corpulent Years. I hope to get it under control again soon.

Clean and reorganize my apartment. I will not start the new year in squalor. I may not be able to afford redecorating, but dusting and moving a bookcase or two can make all the difference. Just as soon as I get a day off.

I’ll probably think of more, but this is a good jumping-off point. If there’s any I have forgotten, the comments are now working again since I upgraded to the new Blogger (classic consumer caving because I just couldn’t take the pestering any longer). Good luck with your lists, and remember: the Great Wall of China isn’t going anywhere, just in case you didn’t rollerblade the length last year.


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