I’m against resolutions, mostly because I find them so appealing. If you follow me on Twitter or Facebook, you know I spent Monday making up titles for a series of anti-self-help books that decrease stress by telling you you’re fine how you are (sample title: How to Be an Unlikeable Female Protagonist). But I did this while I was scrubbing the vegetable drawers in my fridge, striving for internal and external cleanliness. So therein lie my contradictions.
|I'm pretty sure this mermaid has fake boobs too. (Illustration by Cindy McClure.)|
|I care, okay?|
So here are my totally banal, predictable resolutions. Hold me to ‘em, internet.
1. Keep my car clean. Recently I bought my dad’s girlfriend’s old Mercedes. It’s a great car. I can’t give it the garage it deserves, but I can give it a wash and wax every few weeks.
2. Send out Saint Julian, Make Us Reborn. That’s my circus novel. It needs a home. I have some ideas, but I’ve been very slow about pursuing them. I don’t want this project to fall through the cracks.
3. Stay literary. More on this soon, but I want to go to readings regularly and read literary blogs, articles, etc. I’m always trying to read books and write, and will continue to, but I need to do the ephemera around it too.
4. Maintain good eating/exercise habits even when I’m tired. With the exception of a bunch of mofongo in Puerto Rico and a slippery slope made of cookies on Christmas Day, I’ve had extra good health habits for over a year now. I can’t afford not to. But I am most likely to trip up when I’m tired, so I need to learn how to just put myself to bed with a book when my willpower is waning. Or, if I can’t do that, find some kind of harm-reduction substitute—caffeine; handfuls of cereal instead of handfuls of candy; a walk when I can’t drag myself to the gym.