2008's going to be great....?
Like everyone else on this earth, or at least in the blogosphere, I'd dearly love to say that my three New Year's Resolutions are:
1) Be a more patient and creative mother to my daughter
2) Be a kinder, more loving and understanding partner
3) Lose weight.
Blah blah blah, wouldn't we all, yawn, snore, zzzzzz. And if you reviewed those plans by December (or even next weekend) they'd be as forgotten as an overweight Idol winner.
Instead I think it's better to save myself the agony and guilt of so obviously failing and develop some alternative - and more importantly achievable - resolutions. Actually I'm not even sure if they're achievable because I've made them many times before and yet, here I am again:
* Stop picking at my nails. My actual nails are left in relative peace but the cuticles around them look like red fringing on a 1920s murder victim. It is a vicious circle: I see a bit of flaky skin, peel it back to neaten the edge of the nail and sometimes go too far, drawing blood. This later heals and grows more raggedy skin which I peel back to neaten up only to find that I've pulled it too far and it bleeds and ......
* Re-volunteer at Sapphire's School. 2007 was largely spent taking my own advice which was to not over-do the helping out at school as an unpaid slave to assuage my guilt at working full time. I only ran three market stalls, didn't do the fresh cherry deliveries at Christmas and even ~ this is so scandalous I can't believe I'm writing this ~~ attended the end-of-year concert and didn't help set it up or put the chairs away afterwards. It felt as good and as naughty as inhaling a box of Lindt balls on my own, but the slack sands have finally dropped to the bottom of the hourglass. This year I will do at least one thing at the school every week, even if it's just picking up the papers that have blown against the fence on the back oval where Dogadoo and I do our runs.
* Avoid looking directly into my tissue after blowing into it. Whilst it is possible to lower (or even eradicate) social standards when on my own, I must avoid having a gander in my hankie out in public. This will be extremely difficult seeing as it's been a lifelong fascination to mull over my own mucus and has unfortunately become an ingrained habit, much like reducing my cuticles to curtains.
* Go to karate classes more regularly. Sadly, after 18 months of irregular attendance, I am still a yellow belt and show about as much promise of graduating to orange as a Hilton sister has of spelling the word. Yes, it's my own damn fault and again yes, as if the sensei was going to fall over in amazement at my crotch punches, exclaiming, 'Hey Fifth Dan - we have a natural here, and she's only been to six classes this entire year!' Attending at least once a week rather than bi-monthly will no doubt help things.
* Write something for money. Well at least for more than the six pounds sterling per article I get for my fastidiously researched reviews at Chocablog. Something akin to a dole cheque or mortgage interest payment would be nice. It's either that or doing (comical) favours in bus shelters during school hours or being the 'unattended baggage' detonator at international airports. Anything other than working for a boss, being a boss or having to be at an office five days a week within a 2km radius of a boss would be acceptable if money is involved.
* Embrace fashion. This will be the most challenging resolution to keep seeing as I never embraced the muffin-top low-rise look and can't pull off the twelfth month of pregnancy smock look either. I'm clinging onto the peasant skirt (flattering for thunder-thighed gals), 3/4 length long-shorts or short-pants and black. Everything black. It's time for me to discover colour, cut and style - if only in my hair.
* Plan something 'different' - and yet affordable - for my fortieth birthday. Taking Love Chunks and Sapphire to Paris and Italy might not be a go-er; nor a fortnight in Hawaii and Christmas in New York, alas. Sky-diving and bungy-jumping have already been 'done' but I have next-to-no urge for hot-air ballooning, para-gliding or sailing my own yacht. A new car instead of a themed, catered dress-up party? Not likely; the '96 Magna still has legs on her, despite being dustier than a camel's arse. Will keep pondering inventive (and thrifty) party ideas for the next eleven months...
Notice I left out 'eat less chocolate' and 'stop humiliating Love Chunks via this blog' as, let's face it, they're never going to be considered, let alone successful.