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My New Year’s celebration was great. I spent it with good old friends who listened to me, comforted me, graciously took my keys from me at the door and kept me away from hard liquor the entire night.
And I’ve had a many little experiences and conversations in the last few days that have made me feel rather contemplative about where I’ve been and where I may be going. About relationships, present and past. And most of that meaningful schtuff I will simply keep to myself. Because no one here wants to read a novel’s worth of my reasonings and other petty ass thoughts, and because of other reasons which I will also keep to myself, at least for a long time to come with the vast majority of people out there.
If I had one resolution I was actually going to make this year, it would be this: I need to learn to be a little more selfish, a little more demanding, and little more ambitious, and, ultimately? I simply need to learn to take better care of myself.
You know. Stretch every morning. Indulge in the small things. Read more and drink more tea. Cherish more sunsets. Tuck myself into bed at night. Those kinds of things.
And also pay the bills, fill my belly before my blood sugar crashes, stay hydrated and warm but not hot and cool but not cold, generally make sure I am as healthy, safe, stable and thriving in this world as much as possible.
Be my own nurturer, my own source of comfort. To do for myself what I seem to want to do for everyone else.
I need to do the things I enjoy doing without feeling an ounce of guilt, just for once. Do what is best for me, without worrying about the possible consequences for every other person in my life (or not in my life, even). But also maintain my integrity and oh, I shouldn’t shy away from my own compassionate nature nor my desires to be fair. Stand up for how I feel and what I believe in, even if it means the loss of support. To do whatever it takes to move forward, even if that means being manipulative. And stand by my convictions as much as possible regardless.
And fuck failure. Failure happens. Failure is simply a learning opportunity. Really, what choice do I have besides that one choice to pick myself up, brush myself off and keep going, and fuck everyone else’s thoughts on the matter if I need to? It’s my life, not theirs. No other choices even fucking matter, really. All other choices are death sentences. They are giving up. They betray finality, and I fucking HATE finality.
I’ve never really been capable of all this, but this year, I sure as hell strive to be.
Because last year, last summer, I made some very important promises to myself. I realized that I have one main goal for this moment in my life, for this year especially and perhaps the next few years to come: freedom. All other goals at this moment are either secondary or supplemental to that one main goal. Once I achieve that, I can start working on the bigger things, the loftier goals. But not until then.
Because now it is 2012, bitches.
And I’ve been scheming like a fiend.
Because one way or another, this summer will happen. And shit will go down.