Every once in awhile I develop this overwhelming desire to become a better person—someone who smells better, looks better, acts better, is better. I think this is a unique phenomenon that should probably be studied by scientists as something brand-new and unusual that no one on earth has ever experienced ever in the history of time, or when the new year rolls around and the calendar looks all shiny and new and blank and filled with possibilities. For instance: the possibility that this year, you won’t suck.
This year, I’m not going to suck. There, I said it. This year it is very likely that I will suck. Four days into the new year, this shiny fancy 2012 we’ve been given, it’s pretty likely I have already sucked any number of times. That I have messed up in countless tiny ways, leaving nothing but pain and disappointment in my wake. But I have decided not to think about that, because that way lies madness.
The opposite way lies new year’s resolutions, which is a bunch of pledges you make solemnly to yourself and the people around you, whether they realize it or not, that you will do your best to quit being a bad person and instead become a better person with whom no fault can be found, and also to develop (or invent) new excellent qualities to be admired by all.
I spent a week thinking about the person I wanted to be in 2012, the accumulation of which would make me the person I end up being on January 31st of this year. I hope that I’m going to pat myself on the pack gently, admiringly, and say good job, Jen. You tried really hard, and look how well you’ve done.
The other reason I want to make resolutions and write them down and be all conscious and alert is because I have no idea if I made resolutions last year, if I wrote them down anywhere if I did, and whether I kept any of them, even accidentally. It is highly unlikely. This vague sense of unease I have about 2011, most of which I do not remember, probably springs from that fact.
But this year will be better! This year I will cherish the people I love, related and un-related by blood. This year I’ll stay in touch with them. This year I will only make promises I keep. This year I’ll pay off my credit cards and finish the majority of the unfinished projects that languish on every floor of the house.
This year I’ll be creative—super, extra, crazy-fancy ultra creative. I’m going to learn to use my camera, and I’m going to finish this book I’m writing and start a new one and revise an old-old one, and work on sewing projects. I’m going to write flash fictions. If you were to take me at my word, you’d believe I’m going to be writing flash fictions every day and posting them on a secret website somewhere on the internet every day, even when they’re truly terrible. I have this feeling that there’s going to be a lot of truly terrible flash fiction written this year.
This year I’m going to be bright and shiny! This year I will go to the gym! This year I will breathe in, and then I’m going to breathe back out again! This year I will keep at least one of my resolutions—this I swear! You heard it here first.