What is it about the new year that’s so incredibly inticing? It brings a wash of happiness to me every year as the clock strikes twelve and the bedlam erupts around me, a joyfull din. I guess it’s that the new year brings so much promise with it, so much hope that the next one will be better than the last. If I wasn’t afraid of tempting fate, I would say that anything is bound to be better than last year. I compromised on every deal I ever made with myself, tried to sell my soul for money, almost lost everything I really care about, only to realize that none of this was neccisary in the first place. Another year older, another year wiser, I guess.
I have a few New-Year’s resolutions this year, and I intend to tell you about them. I think I will be more likely to keep them if there’s some record of my wishes. It will be fun to see what takes off soaring, and what falls like a lead balloon. The only one I can remember from last year was not biting my fingernails, and I accomplished that admirably until E. P. started up again, and I lost every single fingernail to costuming emergencies. Oh well, they went for a good cause.
This year I intend to:
Keep my car clean. The poor thing, with a nickname like “trashmobile”, and nothing it can do about it except long silently for the vaccum. This shoud change.
Appreciate the husband more. He’s really such a wonderful fellow, and I don’t give him nearly enough credit for all his amazingness. (yes dear, I know Amazingness isn’t strictly a word, Mr. English Major, but it applies to you just the same.)
Go back to school for real this time, and not just because my parents want me too, and that’s what girls my age do.
I think that’s just about it for now. Of course I still intend to work insanely hard and be the best Lead that E. P. has ever seen, but I like to list tangeable, measureable things as resolutions. That way a girl can tell if she’s succeeding or not.