What with the end of the year coming and all, I started putting a little thought into New Year's Resolutions. I hesitate to make any resolutions for 2011, mainly because in the past it seems that when I'm unable to keep said resolutions for whateve reason, it usually comes with a harsh life lesson about setting your expectations too high or thinking too much of yourself.
2009 seemed to be the worst in terms of that. My resolution initially was to pay off our credit card and buy a house and obviously lose 20 pounds. By the 15th of January I was unemployed and watching Aretha Franklin's inagural hat domiate the nation in a daze wondering what had happened to my career. By the end of September I was employed again, but also tangled up in a web of indefinite temporary-to-hire work that I'm still in. We still don't have a house. The credit card was paid off, but is sadly no more so.
2010 was a little better. I resolved to keep my indefinite temp-to-hire job and to obviously lose 20 pounds. I did keep my temp-to-hire job, and I did lose (almost) 20 pounds by May. Unfortunately they've come back, and brought some friends. Some people say it's stress. I think I'm just getting ready to go through a cycle of mitosis that, when complete, will finally give the world what it needs: two of me.
I could say that in 2011 I'm going to obviously lose the 20 pounds again and keep it off. I could say that I'm going to keep our apartment the picture of order, comfort, warmth, and welcome no thanks to my Martha Stewart Living subscription. I could say that yes, I will iron every week and water the plants biweekly and cut cupons on a Friday night, read brittle classic literature, and that I will complete all tasks assigned to me at work with a degree of perfection not seen since St. Martha of the Linens herself was born. I get the feeling that if I do that by mid-March I'll wind up under the coffee table surrounded in Hot Pocket sleeves and backissues of Cosmo watching SciFi Original Movies that all star the Lesser Baldwins.
Maybe keeping it simple is key. Alright. For 2011, I resolve to not travel via glass elevators. Very little good ever comes of that.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Monday, December 27, 2010
Redum and Wassail
Before you read too far you should know that this is just an attempt to get my writing wheels flowing again. There was a time when I would write every day, sometimes several times. I'm trying to get back in the habit and it is not like riding a bike. You can forget how to really write.
On Christmas Eve I was on the couch thinking about the Christmases my husband and I have said since were married...all 3 of them to date, and I realized we're lacking in traditions. Severely. I had several growing up - the tree(s) would go up the day after Thanksgiving, St. Nick would visit a few times during Advent. When I was young, my mom would attack my head with hot rollers while I protested (usually loudly), we'd truck off to Christmas Eve mass with my hair still hurting, and then we'd come home to dinner. For some reason, I keep thinking it was usually something Italian. Either way, after we ate we were allowed to open one gift. One. Uno. The rest would have to wait until the next day. When Christmas Day proper came, it wasn't a free for all of paper and ribbons. The presents would be arranged according to who they went to, a process that was re-done several times over Advent and always done by yours truly, and then we'd always start with the youngest. Christmas always went off without a hitch, due in no small part to my mom's planning skills which, apparently, are not necessarily inherited.
The last few Christmases have acted like the topiaries in The Shining - they get closer when you're not looking and then before you know it your face is being gnawed off by an evergreen rabbit and surprise! it's Christmas. And there's possibly a crazy guy coming after you with a roque mallet.
In other news, I feel like I should give my husband a medal for not chucking me out the door the past few weeks. I've just felt mean. Snappish, short-tempered, what have you. It's completely unacceptable. The project I was involved with at work is done, I'm getting back into a regular routine, and all should be well. I just feel on edge and don't know how to relax. Anyway, Husband Dearest, if you read this, I <3.
Did I mention we ran over Prancer one year on Christmas Eve one year? Well, 'Prancer' at any rate. That may be a story for another time but it could be one heck of a tradition. Anyway, it's 8:15 pm, and I am being old and taking myself to bed.
On Christmas Eve I was on the couch thinking about the Christmases my husband and I have said since were married...all 3 of them to date, and I realized we're lacking in traditions. Severely. I had several growing up - the tree(s) would go up the day after Thanksgiving, St. Nick would visit a few times during Advent. When I was young, my mom would attack my head with hot rollers while I protested (usually loudly), we'd truck off to Christmas Eve mass with my hair still hurting, and then we'd come home to dinner. For some reason, I keep thinking it was usually something Italian. Either way, after we ate we were allowed to open one gift. One. Uno. The rest would have to wait until the next day. When Christmas Day proper came, it wasn't a free for all of paper and ribbons. The presents would be arranged according to who they went to, a process that was re-done several times over Advent and always done by yours truly, and then we'd always start with the youngest. Christmas always went off without a hitch, due in no small part to my mom's planning skills which, apparently, are not necessarily inherited.
The last few Christmases have acted like the topiaries in The Shining - they get closer when you're not looking and then before you know it your face is being gnawed off by an evergreen rabbit and surprise! it's Christmas. And there's possibly a crazy guy coming after you with a roque mallet.
In other news, I feel like I should give my husband a medal for not chucking me out the door the past few weeks. I've just felt mean. Snappish, short-tempered, what have you. It's completely unacceptable. The project I was involved with at work is done, I'm getting back into a regular routine, and all should be well. I just feel on edge and don't know how to relax. Anyway, Husband Dearest, if you read this, I <3.
Did I mention we ran over Prancer one year on Christmas Eve one year? Well, 'Prancer' at any rate. That may be a story for another time but it could be one heck of a tradition. Anyway, it's 8:15 pm, and I am being old and taking myself to bed.
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