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. 

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