I don’t go in for resolutions. For several years, I pledged each New Years to not eat any phone books, which was an inside joke amongst my friends, though I can’t remember where it started. This was the perfect resolution, however. I have never eaten a phone book, nor do I plan to, especially with the advent of smartphones which has made the actual physical phone book obsolete. I know this because my neighbor and I have left ours on the front porch for several months, watching them disappear under the snow. I have, of course, been able to avoid going downstairs and picking one up for a midday snack. This makes me feel empowered, like I accomplished something. Which is all people really want to get out of a new years resolution anyway.
However, this year, I am making three resolutions, against my better judgement. They aren’t so much resolutions, though, as they are rules for not dying. For instance, I intend to quit smoking. I intend to get in better shape. I intend to write more.
Now, I am always full of good intentions, but they don’t always come to fruition. I am burdened with a serotonin imbalance, and the medication that goes with such things. These two influences often make getting to the gym impossible, having a cigarette necessary, and writing so much as a poem unbearable. I have decided, however, and with the help of some medication adjustments, to rail against the voice in my head telling me to shut up and sit on the couch. I have spent the past two years begin incredibly sick, and I am done. I have decided that the only thing that ever kept me together was writing, and so, I return to my old friend, the blog, to pound out the thoughts, feelings, and experiences that have been trapped inside a lonely and frightened mind for too long. Remember when you wrote plays, self? Remember the 17 OTHER blogs? Remember your 500+ poems, or that short story anthology, or that half a novel that sits stagnant in a document folder somewhere waiting to be dusted off and rewritten? You had such plans, Me. And here you are, letting your stupid malfunctioning brain get the better of you again? Oh, hell no.
So I’m going to write about not smoking, and getting in shape, and being sick, and being depressed….and my husband, and my step-kids, and my friends, and my family, and all the funny and wonderful and ridiculous nonsense that I see and hear on a regular basis. Maybe quitting smoking will be hard, maybe getting in shape will take time, but writing is something I can do now. Writing is going to get me through the hard parts, as it always has in the past.
At the very least, one year from now, I can look back and think “Well, at least I didn’t eat any phone books.”
PS-If interested, my past blog posts can be found HERE.
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