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A year of Mondays
New Year’s Day is like the mother of all Mondays. It’s the day for a list of resolutions. Like Monday, New Year’s Day is the day we clear the deck and make way for a brand new “me”. New Year’s Day! Let’s put Christmas away and jot down a few resolutions we’ll probably ignore, starting on January 2. And, like a lot of Mondays, New Year’s Day will be the day many of us try stop tricking ourselves into thinking that a double foam, five-pump chocolate cappuccino with sprinkles is just a coffee. And, on New Year’s Day those pesky closets will be cleaned out. Heck, we might actually get rid of the leather jacket we haven’t worn since 1978, even though it cost a week’s salary and we look totally hot in it. At least in 1978 we looked hot in it. Out it goes! And, my favourite resolution is when I vow to let the real “me” happen—look out world.
Lucky for us, New Year’s Day 2019 doesn’t fall on a Monday. We won’t be doubly charged with resolutions this week and year. Raise your pudgy little hands, how many have will have abandoned the resolutions and gone back to their dirty, trans-fat, flabby-butt, pompous buffoon, Value Village Closet, cranky-arse ways by January 2? I say, “Resolutions made around the dinner table with a glass of bubbly in your hand, don’t count at all.”
Truly, why the H E double pinky-swearpromises do we torment ourselves with such huge personal responsibilities? Isn’t just getting through a normal day, these days, is hard enough? Was there a point in wading through the remnants of Christmas 2018 while crossing- our-hearts-and-hope-to-die-promising ourselves a better personal 2019? Honestly, who is going to get rid of all the sweet and savoury leftovers of 2018 when we’ve already spent most of the year trying to recover from 2017. It’s a revolving door of resolving to get rid of all the temptations in our life. Of course, I’m not suggesting we should plough through the remaining two pounds of salted mixed nuts and seven chocolate marshmallow Santas on New Year’s Eve. To clean the slate, dontcha know. If it happens, we don’t even review the actual resolution practicum until the second of January. And we don’t start a real struggle with our resolutions until the third of January. By the fourth, we’re just pulling the covers over our heads and trying to drown out the words we spoke with conviction a few days earlier. When the fifth of January hits us like a ton of stale fruitcake, we’ll be praying that no one remembers that we made our resolutions out loud at a party a few days earlier. Some of us might be hoping everyone has forgotten what we said about the boss, our mother-in-law, or our neighbours. When the first weekend of January happens and we give ourselves a break because Monday is only a couple of days away. And, we all know that Monday is really our regular day of reckoning and starting again, right?
To say the least, I’m hugely impressed when folks make their resolutions out loud. My new resolution should be to make a note of the resolutions my friends and family voice around the Crokinole and eggnog, then about halfpast February (as they tuck a stick of gum into their mouth to cover the smell of the cigarette they vowed to not to smoke) haul out the notes and ask how that resolution is working for them. And don’t say you haven’t thought of doing that! Especially if it’s about smoking, swearing or overeating. Like, “Hey, does a Mars bar and a double-damn really negate the Player’s Light? Is that how it works? I’ve always wondered, ya know. Just asking.” And, “Sheesh ya don’t have to cuss, I understand the pressure of working for a wanker.”
So as far as resolutions are concerned, I’ve made ‘em. Over the years, I’ve resolved to lose weight, get fit, be nice, not swear, not gossip (like a resolution could stop me), to be a good employee (freelancing took care of that) and never, ever drive over the speed limit. And, as it turns out, I’ve lost weight—but it always finds its way back to me and then some. I’ve been fit—as in, I still fit into my old maternity clothes (and the baby is thirty-two). And, I’m nice! Oh, yes I freaking am! “Up yours too buddy—let me tell you about the Alpha Male who used to manipulate my boss, the whiney-toad-talk about a weighty issue. Ya! Well, one day I made it home in record time— I just couldn’t wait to get away from that place. The nasty son-of-a-sardine. Sheesh. Monday I start my diet! Working for idiots makes me fat.” If that doesn’t make you want to light up, I don’t know what does.
Why can’t the New Year just be “The New Year” like the brand new scribbler when we were in Grade Four? Clean, empty pages for beautiful penmanship, neatly stroked-through mistakes, ah ha! moments, life lessons, doodles, scribbles, computations, lists and perhaps, nothing at all.
Why make once-a-year promises on New Year’s Day when Monday’s fresh start is always less than seven days away.
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