Every New Year’s Day I have a tradition: I take down the Christmas decorations; I reflect on the highs and lows of the previous year; and I write my lofty and specific suicide note resolutions, complete with timelines: write a book, run a marathon, and learn Swahili. By the end of January. Because the resolutions are unattainable, I spiral into a dark period of crime and drugs self-loathing. It’s ridiculous. This year I’m making my goals simpler. I want to nourish my inner spirit, set limits, and do diddly squat what feels right. Here’s how:
- Treat myself to new undergarments. No more gently used thongs camisoles from Salvation Army. You heard me.
- Take back my empties to the recycling depot time and do things when they suit my schedule. To that end, I will serve supper at 5:05. Not 5:00. Get over it.
- Let my trustworthy horoscope energy guide my decision-making.
- Only say yes to things that bring me an abundance of cash joy.
- No more doing crap out of obligation.
- Medicate meditate every day. No excuses.
- Repeat every morning: I am an alcoholic worthy and special.
- Don’t look down; they’re lower than they were yesterday back. Look forward.
- Face my fear of heights by getting higher than a bloody kite.
- Break a rule now and then: Take Speed. Screw the cops. Twice.
There. A simple, attainable list of goals that won’t overwhelm me. I’ve already faced my fear of heights and it’s not even noon! This afternoon I may take speed. Who knows? All I’m saying is this year I’m keeping it simple. What kind of idiot runs marathons speaks Swahili anyway? Duh.