Ahhhh, yes. There’s nothing like the first day of a new year to remind us of all the promises we intend to break to ourselves, starting right now.
That resolution to actually see my first sunrise in 20 years, other than unintentionally, when flailing about in a fit of insomnia? I’m already over it. Not gonna happen. And that means that my second resolution — a promise to do some serious writing after rising at dawn — is also out the window. Who I am kidding? Don’t look for me until noon.
The resolution to turn on the stove and make some eggs or oatmeal to go with my caramel latte instead of my usual buttery croissant with cherry jam?
Too late. Way too late. I already had a slice of leftover cheesecake, and besides, I used up all of the eggs in my daughter’s birthday cookies yesterday. Speaking of which, there are leftover cookies. Hooray!
The morning sugar rush brings us to my fourth promise, shattered before I even got out of bed. I had resolved to stop checking the morning’s headlines (and whether we’re all still alive) on my iPhone, because my teenagers mentioned over Christmas break that I was waking them before their natural rising time (also high noon) with my rants about Donald Trump. My son even threatened to return to his university dorm one week early so that he could rise and shine in a news-free environment.
Well. After reaching automatically for my cell phone this morning before my eyes had fully opened, I realized that a journalist not checking the morning’s Liar-in-Chief headlines is like a stockbroker not checking the latest numbers from The New York Stock Exchange, a paramedic not checking for a pulse, or a drug dealer not checking for fake bills. It makes no sense. So the resolution is toast, but my husband has suggested a compromise: a speed bag and boxing gloves for me and earplugs for everybody else. All I need now is for somebody to paint a likeness of DJT and the word “SAD!” on the bag. My son is the artist in the family, so I have resolved to nominate him.
I also had a fifth resolution, but there’s no point in mentioning that I had high hopes this year of drinking more water than Champagne, since I’m sipping a New Year’s mimosa while I write this. So instead, I’ll raise my glass to all of you: “Good riddance to 2017. May all of your troubles this year be as short as your New Year’s resolutions.” And don’t forget the most important thing:
Promises were meant to be broken. 😜🎉🎉🎉