So it’s 2022, and people are making resolutions, and I spit on resolutions because they’re always so grim. Nobody ever resolves to eat more chocolate, it’s always diet this and exercise that and “do more” and somehow that always ends up being “enjoy less.”
I do not make resolutions. I make plans.
The thing about plans is that they’re finite. They’re not “I’m going to eat sadly the rest of this year,” they’re “I’m going to make that 40 clove of garlic chicken people keep going on about.” They’re not “I’m going to sweat a lot more,” they’re “I’m finally going to get my ass to the library and get a card and meet the librarians.” They’re not “I’m going to keep my house so clean nobody will think anybody lives here and nobody will want to,” they’re “I’m going to find what the hell I did with my loom.” They do not harass you weekly with your failings, they give you a sense of accomplishment because they can be finished, preferably in an hour or at least an afternoon.
My plans include:
Getting an electrician in here so that I can get a new fridge (my birthday present to me, I’m so excited).
Focusing on one set of books to start writing next: the three Liz books (probably), Anna/Alice/Nadine (possibly), the Trudy/Courney/Darcy novellas (maybe), the Zo/Cat stories (definitely but not now). And then getting them DONE.
Going through my immense collection of recipes to find the ones that really make me want to cook. This sounds like a drag, but I love reading recipes so it’ll be an orgy of ooohing and note taking.
Making those recipes, and also Chicken Marsala and Vegetable Soup and Stir Fry with Cashews and Chili with Sricha because the classics are always good. Sigh.
Walking the dogs on their new double leash, just for the comedy value. I do not have high hopes this will work, but it should be hysterical finding out.
Crochet my yarn or give it away. This will take years, so I’m in no hurry. It’s a process, not a project.
Finally organize my kitchen. I’m a Virgo; this is better than sex for me. (Okay, not, but close.)
Make my kitchen a laff riot of color and funny but practical stuff, like my Flying Spaghetti Monster colander and my octopus holder (after I got one for the bathroom, it was a no brainer to get one for the kitchen. I can always find my ketchup and mustard now.)
There’s more but it doesn’t matter because they’re plans not resolutions which means (a) I don’t have to do them and (b) they end, gloriously, with me having had a good time AND accomplishing something.
Oh, and also;
Eat more chocolate.
Your turn. Tell us your resolutions if you must and we’ll support you, but really, do you have some great plans? YES, tell us those. Fuck resolutions.