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First words of 2012

January 1, 2012 at 9:17 am

Hallelujah! It’s here. We’re here. Finally, the holidays and all the obligations to have a happy are over. Normal life (whatever that is) resumes. A little hangover to honor the day and wave the queasy flag of my patriotism.

I made it.

Thank you God and all His/Her little helpers.


This year’s going to be a big one. This year is going to be great. This year’s my year- “the” year.  Isn’t that what everyone (other than the Mayans) is going around saying? Aren’t we expected to do good, tend to our bodies, be kinder to employees, yell less at our children, and stop eating sweets? And sever ties to our liquor, weed, cigarettes, porn, Red Bull and sleeping pills? Our precious little vices of choice have to go.

Senseless hours perusing Facebook? (Strike that. The withdrawal would kill me. Note to self: revisit FB obsession in spring)

After all, I am a vessel. What for, I can’t quite remember. Light, or love or some such thing. So here it is. The second Rosh Hashanah of the year (or first depending on which calendar your ascribe to.) An opportunity to reinvent ourselves – again.

The sarcasm has to go, too. Which means these pages will have fewer words. Without my cynicism who am I? A dull, dull girl is what I think.   Raindrops and roses and whiskers on kittens make me snooze after a few paragraphs.

Around this time it’s my half birthday, another opportunity to pause and reflect. Which side of fifty does fifty-six-and-a-half fall on? The answer’s obvious but in my Pollyanna-esque form I always mused how I was turning fifty for the umpteenth time. In July, it will be the seventh. That was kind of cute pre-fifty-five but is sounding kind of lame now. Probably sounded lame then, too, but I think post-adolescence is finally kicking in.  Yes, blooming came later for me.

The less infantile way of looking at my age is that really, I am pushing sixty.

I heard a friend say that the other day and I nearly plotzed. Me sixty? What the hell? I saw myself in a picture yesterday and cringed at the myriad lines around my eyes. Unseen when I smile, or rather tucked neatly the way lines are supposed to, the crepe paper around my eyes is my mother’s. Not mine.  It was horrifying.

I’m approaching 2012 with a tinge of realism, sadness, and joy all at once. Yes, it’s possible. I have less get up and go and more lay down and nap these days. Less, I’m better than you are and more, what the f**k do I care?

I hope to make something of this year, something of myself this year. I hope I sell songs. I hope I meet the Mr. Wonderful that my once favorite psychic promised in each seasonal reading for the past ten years. I hope money comes easily and I’m going to savor the last lap of my mother’s existence and try to shed some of this belly fat. Topped with a clean bill of health and I’m good to go.

Are you with me God?  Forgive my sacrilege, it’s that compulsive creativity that puts words like that in my mouth. Or rather, You. I am tickled silly and grateful for the (seventh?) sense that is humor. Keep it coming, please.

Can I get an amen?

Happy ’12, y’all.

Comments (1)

1 Comment »

    As I see it 5, 6, 7, are but numbers counting forward on a calendar we know not the end to. You however are clearly a very energizing, creativity-full, sparkling individual! Enjoy 2012 and keep spreading that jy beautiful around like the sunsets you so beautifully share.

    Comment by AnnJanuary 1, 2012 @ 10:45 am

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