Because my birthday falls on January seventh, my New Year’s resolutions never appear prior to January’s second full week. I’m a firm believer of birthday indulgences. I refuse to let my birthday get in the way of resolutions; therefore, I wait to avoid failure.
Because intentional failure is stupid.
But unexpected failure happens all the time for me.
For example in a moment of lice inspired weakness before Christmas break, I lamented to my principal that I’m an idiot, relinquished all knowledge, and begged her to be my life coach. In the hallway. Loudly. With students and other teachers around.
That, my friends, is failing at life.
As is catching lice at nearly 35.
(For my lice debacles, check out these posts: A Little Thing Tale: Merry Licemas and A Mrs. Ram’s Jams Tale: Happy Lice-a-Days)
And I’m disconcertingly at peace with my spectacular fails.
Anyway, here are my resolutions.
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- Read less. Write more. Instead of inhaling books at an alarming rate, I’m stepping back a notch. I’ll be just fine if I read 60 books instead of 119, allowing me more writing time. I’ve posted weekly since starting the blog, but often I’m scrounging around at the last minute trying to post something before my weekly Saturday self-imposed cutoff (because I’m caught up in a book). Writing is greater than reading in 2018.
- Break the bad habit of spacing twice after a period. WHO KNEW THAT THIS IS NO LONGER A THING, AND HOW COME NO ONE HAS ALERTED THE MASSES??? Or were the masses alerted, and I missed it? Again, another life fail.
- Do yoga everyday (barring contracting bubonic plague, botulism, or whatever more plausible virus is contaminating my middle school). I’ve done yoga everyday since November 13–that’s 60 days in a row! Might as well see if I can keep it up. I can already see the difference, and my back has NEVER felt better. My muscle inflammation is essentially nonexistent. On days that I know I can’t handle 30 minutes, I try to do a gentle 15 minute practice. On top of daily practice, I want to learn about yoga’s history, too.
- Brush up on my Russian. I was three classes short of graduating with a minor in Russian from the U of I. The department head, who I loved, left after my sophomore year and was replaced with a scary lady. By junior year, I was one of the few non Russian students. Feeling overwhelmed, I said dosvedanya and left the foreign language building’s basement. Fast forward a decade and I’ve forgotten everything I was taught except how to read it. (Okay that’s not true. The first full sentence from the Russian 101 textbook was лифт никогда не работает, which means “The elevator never works.” Why? Why was this the first thing I learned. Do elevators consistently refuse to work in Russia??? Also the Russian word for water is вода, pronounced voda. It’s. Only. One. Letter. Away. From. Vodka. Can I start calling water “wineter”? Do you think I can pull it off? Or is this a Gretchen Weiners-esque fetch pipe dream?) I dilly-dallied over relearning Russian last summer but was unwilling to fully commit. Rosetta Stone’s new best friend will be Mrs. Ram Jam this year. (Again, life fail. I’d like you to meet my future summer time best friend, Rosetta. I bought her for $179. She’s reteaching me Russian, and she’s not a real person.)
- Secret Resolution. Sorry! I’m being that girl.
Are these difficult resolutions to keep? Heck no! If I read 119 books, started a blog, mommed hard, taught hard, had a septoplasty, and visited four different doctors regularly in 2017, then 2018’s resolutions should be easy peasy lemon squeezy.
(P.S. teaching a tiny Little Thing how to say easy peasy lemon squeezy was hilarious. I caught it on video circa three years ago. You’re welcome.)
