The Anti-Resolution
Posted on January 2, 2008
Filed Under My Better Half, bat-ass crazy, bitching and moaning, holiday fun, marriage, milestones, resolutions | 5 Comments
It’s that time of year again, the nascent, early days when people feel they must tie themselves to some important cause, strap themselves to the fragile barrel of weight loss and plunge head-long into a New Year. Having made several disappointing trips down the river of good intentions, this year, I’m content to bob along in the shallows, drifting in the eddies of my own indifference.
When My Better Half asked me what I was resolved to do or change in the New Year, I declared 2008 to be the year I finally recognize my own near perfection. No resolutions necessary. It’s all been resolved. My declaration received guffaws and a big Boo Hiss but since I’m pretty near perfect, I just let all that negativity roll right off my back.
“Fine,” I said. “You need me to have a resolution? Well, here it is…I resolve to clean out my sock drawer. Once and for all, take all those lonely, worn, little socks that have no partner and throw them all away. That’s my resolution.” And, two days left in December, I yanked open the drawer in question and cleaned the heck out of it. Restored order to the mayhem. And then I said, “Not even 2008 and my resolution – already accomplished.”
My Better Half left the room, disgusted with my efficiency. My near perfection just bothering the hell out of him.
And I began to think that maybe, rather than choosing our own resolutions, we should all turn to our loved ones and say, “Hey, what’s the one thing I should resolve to do this year?” Because I’m pretty damn sure that My Better Half has a few things he’d like me to change and God Knows I could make a list of things that he should accomplish in ‘08. And if he weren’t a regular reader of this blog, I’d give you the run down. But that’d really rock the world, shake the fragile foundations of the institution of marriage. Imagine how much fun we’d all have drafting resolutions for our loved ones. “I, CCE’s Better Half, resolve to stop chewing so loudly. To drink less. To sleep on my right side so as not to wake my sleeping wife with my god-awful snoring.” We’d all have so much fun pointing out each others’ failures and inconsistencies right up until the divorce papers were served. So we’ll leave that idea at the curb, there with the tired, used Christmas tree, once beautiful and fawned over, now neglected and worthless. Dead, dead, dead.
On New Year’s morning, standing there in the thin sunshine of a thirty degree morning, listening to the waves and the gulls, bundled against the wind, I watched the crazy people I know (my brother, my nieces, My Better Half, my best friend’s husband and my O included), run wildly for the surf, dashing for the cold waves of the Atlantic in nothing but their swim suits. And I resolved to never let the frigid ocean spray touch my delicate feet on the first of the New Year. They can have the accolades, the earned heroism. I would surely die of a heart attack or hypothermia. I resolved to never be a member of the Craigville Beach Polar Bear Club.
And while I was at it, I also resolved to never run a marathon. I prefer the quick torture of a sprint. Around the block and back. An ass-kicking dash. All over with in twenty minutes.
I resolved to pay less attention to the dirty kitchen floor and the collection of soiled clothes in the hamper because no one ever says, after a person’s death, “Damn, was her house immaculate or what?”
I resolved to give in to moments of lethargy and watch stupid television every once and awhile because it is not a crime to miss a day at the gym, to forgo one Nautilus circuit for a snippet of Project Runway.
I resolved to serve a few meals a week from the package, to make it simple, spend more time reading books and playing on-line poker and less time conjuring up the homemade meal that the family will decide is disgusting and refuse to eat anyway.
I resolved to let the laundry pile up in the hamper until the lack of clean underwear necessitates a wash.
I resolved to cry more and wallow in self pity and give in to guilt and worry about money and to love and loathe and feel things through and through.
I resolved to live 2008 for me and no one else. As the swimmers’ towels drifted down the beach, picked up and carried yards away by a stiff wind off the water, I turned and trudged back to the car. Resolved to let them chase their own warmth and comfort as it raced away in the opposite direction.
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