The resoluting of all the fruitless resolutions

The resoluting of all the fruitless resolutions

Like most people, I find New Year’s Resolutions to be total crap. But, like most people, I make them every year -crap and all- even though every year I tell myself that I won’t buy into it. After all, who the hell does New Year’s think he is? And what, exactly, is the issue here that would require an annual use of the word RESOLUTE. Resolute, after all, is a pretty strong word. One that implies that something or many things need … resoluting. And, quite frankly, I don’t need this shit. Not from you, New Year’s. You can’t change me, I’ll have you know. YOU’RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME! The three year old? She’s the boss of me. But you? Not so much.

Still, every year I cave and make up a short list of what I’d like to see happen or accomplish over the next year. It’s not so much of a list than rather a very loose outline of basic, general ideas. Hopeful guidelines, if you will. Basic, general, hopeful guidelines that may or may not be impeccably outline and Roman Numeraled so intensely that it goes from VI. to sub A. to sub 1. to sub a to sub 1a to sub aa.and suddenly you’re all, OHMYGOD! THE ROMAN NUMERAL MADNESS! WHEN WILL IT EVER END?! IT’S LIKE A MATHEMATICAL RUSSIAN DOLL HELL THAT I CAN NOT ESCAPE! THEY JUST KEEP GETTING SMALLER AND SMALLER AND NO MATTER HOW DESPERATELY I LONG TO STOP, I CAN’T BECAUSE I NEED TO SEE HOW MUCH SMALLER THEY CAN GO! DAMN YOU, ROMANS!! NO WONDER YOUR EMPIRE FELL, YOU SADISTIC BASTARDS!! But hey, thanks for inventing that whole plumbing thing. One of the top two requirements of a house in which I will be living is that the toilet must flush and I must be able to bathe with running water (call me picky). So, thanks. That one worked out well for me. Oh! And salami! Who doesn’t love a good salami? But the Roman Numeral system… You’re a sick, cruel people.

Ummmm ? Where? Oh, right. Resoluting. But wait. The Roman Numeral thing. I can’t move on yet. Let me give you an idea of what I’m talking about:

2015 Resolution, V. Stop saying FUCK.
A. Also: Any variation and any form of FUCK: verb, noun, adjective, etc.
1. Fuck, this is going to be hard.
a. See what I mean?
1a. Ehhh, fuck it. Why give up what might be the world’s most perfect word?
a1. Fuck you, you motherfucking fuck.
1aa. See? I feel better already.

I could go on with this all day, really. But I think you get it.

So, the resolutions. I was clearing out some files in Word and I found my New Year’s Resolution List, which was pretty much a dead file by January 3rd, and realized that I have yet to accomplish anything on it. (I’ll save you all the sub categories. You’re welcome.)

I. Stop being so neurotic about cleaning. Haha. I tried. I swear I tried. For all of about an hour. Then I saw a dust bunny under my dining room table and started hyperventilation and, well, yeah. So much for that.
II. Be more patient with my kids. Well, I have moments of patientness. They’re just peppered with aggravating, disgruntling, deranged, holy-shit-I-belong-in-a-rubber-room-wearing-a-straight-jacket moments. So, in my opinion, this one cancels itself out. (Hey, whatever. I make the list? I can make the rules.)
III. Lose the last of the baby weight. Did that. Then I was all, hey, you know, I kind of miss it. Maybe I’ll gain a few back. Then I’ll just stop working out so that it’s extra special irritating-like when I complain about my thighs jiggling.
IV. Stop biting my nails. This one comes and goes. Well, it used to go. But that’s when stress used to come and go. Stress has been a pretty permanent fixture around here these days, so the nail-biting stays.
V. That whole FUCK thing. See above. No need for copy and pasting.
VI. Get more sleep. I average about 3-4 hours a night, if I’m lucky, and have since as long as I can remember. I went to my doctor about it in the beginning of the year and told her, “I’m pretty tired, can you help me out?” and she was all, “You have two kids, right?” and I was all, “Yeah, you want to buy them? I’ll sell ’em to you. Cheap.” and she was all “Join the Tired Mom’s Club and get over it. Now, where’s my Co-Pay?”
VII. Write more. (Blog not included.) Ummmmmm…..
VIII. Be nicer to people. Bwahahahahahaha!
IX. Stop being so hard on myself. Wow. These just get increasingly more unrealistic. You can tell I was totally reaching by this point.
X. Stop romanticizing ways that I could successfully murder my husband and get away with it. This lasted for all of about 4 and a half minutes, when he tracked mud across the freshly scrubbed kitchen floor, looked down and said, “Shit. Sorry. Can you get that?” and kept walking. Yeah, he’s been dead ever since that day. I’ve just been pulling a Weekend At Bernie’s ever since. Haha. Suckers.
XI. Give up Smoking. I have tried to quit smoking more times than I care to remember, but this time I think I may have found a way to effectively quit? What is this magical way you ask? The answer (at least I hope it is) is electronic cigarette or what all the cool kids are calling vaping. You can apprently taper down the nicotine over time until you are just smoking water vapor. I plan on doing a full post about this in May so I can tell you about how well or badly I have done.

So, yeah. This long ass entry has all just been to say that I haven’t stuck to a single resolution this year. Seeing as though it is September and I still have three months to turn everything around, I guess it’s not too late. But, whatever. I’m tired. Fuck it.

(PS: “Resoluting”. It’s scientific.)