2015 Will Be My Best Year Yet! Cue Insane Laughter.
Hello New Year, you gorgeous bastard! I can hardly wait to conquer you and ride victoriously upon my steed, the Night Falcon, through the gates of Helm’s Deep with your Uruk-hai head, festooned with gnashing teeth, on a pike!
Because I’ve got this! I’ve got 2015 by the freaking short hairs.
Except I don’t.
I went to buy new underwear today and I didn’t appreciate my ass under the florescent lights. I have no idea whose ass that was supposed to be, but it certainly could not have been mine.
Also, my kids have been on winter break for 504 hours.
(That’s three weeks, in case you were wondering).
And while I don’t want to throw them out into the wilderness to be eaten by Orcs (we’ve been binging on LOTR), I would like to put them in cryogenic freeze for another 504 hours so I can take tango lessons from Maksim Chernobyl and eat peyote and howl at the moon and possibly get a tattoo of husband’s buttocks on my clavicle.
And speaking of my husband, he’s taken to humming this repetitive ditty under his breath that sounds like muffled automatic weapon-fire and makes me want to scratch my ears off.
Also I’m noticing that when I don’t smile I have elder-jowls forming, so my cheeks hurt from smiling despite my ennui (a fancy word for boredom. I was showing off a little to impress you, because ultimately I want everyone to love me).
Oh yes, and I’m sick of writing, eating doughy things and exercising because of them (tuck, tuck, tuck!). I’m sick of the repetitive nature of my life. And I’m pretty sure one of my closest friends is cooling toward me.
I wonder what I did?
Was it this blog? Was it just one-too-many TMI moments? Was it my children? It was probably my children, that’s got to be it. So to ask her or not to ask her whether she still likes me? Or should I just join a coven and make new friends?
I’m also jealous of successful people. That damned woman who wrote the Divergent series that my kids are forcing me to read, which I really hate, but somehow manage to stay up until three in the morning reading every night, what’s her name…? Googling. Veronica Roth.
Well thanks a lot Veronica Roth for writing Divergent “while (you) were still in college!”
I mean, what the hell is that all about? Don’t you think that’s just a little bit aggressive, Veronica?
You were supposed to be getting alcohol poisoning and dating your married English literature professor Mr. Stonenehenge, but no!
No, you had to go off and write one of the most successful book-to-Hollywood-film series ever written while you were still wearing a training bra and I bet Scott Rudin didn’t even call you a talentless brat! (Though I heard Amy Pascal did)
And now you probably live with your chiseled husband and dog in Connecticut somewhere while you gestate twins who will look like The Children of the Corn!
Also, this year I’m attempting a new venture and I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I feel like I know what I’m talking about and that I can be helpful, but is the way I’m doing it the right way?
Should this mysterious project I’m too superstitious about to give a name be written? Or video-taped? Or in morse code? Or delivered as a tone poem?
Also, words like “platform” “ROI” “delivery systems” and other business-y verbiage boggle my brain, such as it is. Why am I doing this? What was I thinking?
I know right now you think I should be writing my gratitude list. Because you can be judgey like that.
You know you can!
You’re thinking, “what kind of privileged dilettante is she to grouse about the new year and all of the fucking pressure to fulfill her potential when she has so much?”
(My damned potential!! Who asked for it?! Not me!)
I hate it when you judge me, but I will pretend I don’t care.
Also, what are these strange red dots on my forearm? Googling. Okay, I’m probably fine.
But I could also be having a severe allergic reaction to that fucking peyote, my throat could close up and I could suffocate and die if I don’t get an administration of epinephrine STAT!
… … … … … . . . . . . i appear to still be alive … albeit somewhat diminished. … … . . . . . . . … … … . . . . .
… what’s that sound i hear ..? .. it sounds like distant gunfire … could this be the end? .. no, it’s just my husband humming. sigh.
If you too are suffering from inadequacy and a general sense of dissatisfaction with your life when you are supposed to be starting fresh and kicking butt you might love Dr. Thomas Plante’s piece on Psychology Today titled, “Could Lowered Expectations Result in a Happier Life?” (not sponsored btw) It made me feel a little less lame.
Your turn. Share your dissatisfaction and lameness here. I promise to love you all the more!