So it's January 1, 2012. My second home, the Internet, is brimming with advice, resolutions, 2011 recaps and myriad reasons why 2012 really needs to get its act together fast. If not, we're all doomed to another year of financial woes, protests and general malaise until we find ourselves drafting our 2013 resolutions, which will assuredly mirror our 2012 resolutions, unless we get off our rears and do something about it. Baby New Year seems to kick Father Time in the shins each chance he gets. I, for one, am growing weary of that cranky, diapered kid. But that's just me.
Not to be outdone by the rest of the world, I, too, have a few resolutions. Far be it from me to rock the boat.
- Drink more coffee.
- Sleep as late as I want, stay up as late as I want and stop worrying about whether it's ok.
- Stop worrying in general.
- Decorate for each major holiday.
- Travel more.
- Be less cranky.
My husband, whom I lovingly refer to as Mr. Vagabond, particularly likes No. 6. We'll see how that works out.
Now, on the surface, these resolutions might seem a bit odd. That's ok; so am I. I have an irrational propensity toward many unusual things.
Why would I strive to drink more coffee? Because I like coffee, even though my friend and digital broheim,
Adam, seems to think I am off my nut. He's from Newfoundland by way of the UK. I try to overlook his lack of appreciation for coffee. He's a good chap otherwise.
Working toward weird hours also seems an unlikely goal, but it makes sense in my world. During normal working hours, if those exist, people do the weirdest things. Like call my cell. Or knock on my door. Or ask me to do things. I am a writer, so I need a little peace and quiet, dagonnit. Keeping odd hours might help.
Letting go of all the worrying is something many of us want, need or even crave. When you think about it, how much worry in your life is thrust upon you by someone else's idea of who or what you ought to be?
Decorating for each major holiday. This one is near and dear to my heart, even if Mr. Vagabond couldn't care less. And really, he couldn't. I love pretty things. I love being around pretty things. I touch the glossy pages of decorating magazines with a longing that fills me to the brim. Unfortunately, each holiday comes and goes with barely more than a figurine on the piano to herald the upcoming event. I would like to change this. I might need to hire someone. Ok, several someones.
Traveling more. Now, this one is doable. Totally. To this point, if you have been so kind as to read my ramblings, you might be wondering why or how my significant other, Mr. Vagabond, arrived at such a moniker. For the past fourteen years, give or take, his work carries him across this great country. In fact, it is no understatement to say that he spends more time traveling than he does at home. Although I drudged through college, I can't seem to hold a regular job like a normal person. The upside to this is my schedule, or lack thereof, allows me to travel with my Vagabond. It's fun. I like it. A lot.
This is my "On Vacation" face. It's nicer than my regular face.
As for my last resolution, this one will take some work. Zoloft helps. I don't know where this cranky 43-year-old woman came from, but I am about to toss her out the window along with Baby New Year.
May your 2012 be everything you want, nothing that you don't, and may you have a fifth of bourbon and something breakable within arm's reach for the times when you'd rather just run away. Oh. By the way, I'm Carolee. I run this madhouse.
