taking the passive out of passive-aggressive

Saturday, January 01, 2005

New Year's, 2005! We ate lobster, which is not very much like crab, to my dismay. We drank champagne. We played poker with the neighbors, but no one could keep track of what was going on, so we all kept our money.

By midnight, the children were exhausted and the adults were fading too. When I got up this morning, everyone was working on their resolutions. Joanne wanted to go to the gym. The husband wanted to clean leaves out of the yard. My best friend wanted to get proposed to by her boyfriend.

I seemed to be the only one without an actual resolution, something "actionable." When asked last night, I said that my resolution was to stay married til next new year's, but how lame is that? All I have to do to keep that resolution is avoid lawyers. Maybe I should give up dextrose, or wear only red, or eat more fiber. I should resolve to get a fur coat. I should plan on taking the cats to the vet more often, or sign up for Netflix, or build two hundred light-up shrines to the Virgin.

No, I can't resolve anything. I'm not disciplined enough to do something wholly against my nature, and isn't that what resolutions are all about? Tricking yourself into doing the very thing you don't want to do, the thing you've been avoiding, the Right Thing? For me, that would probably be quit smoking, drink less beer, and schedule my children for more organized activity. Oh, and maybe eat regular meals. But what's the point of any of that? I'd be miserable and cranky!

The whole resolution thing is like New Year's in general--forcing everyone to do something they don't necessarily want to do right then. After Christmas, everyone's exhausted, broke, and debauched, but nooooo. You have to roll right into New Year's, and dammit, you have to have a good time! And then you have to resolve--not promise, not suppose, not hope, but RESOLVE--that you're going to do something completely un-fun for the next year. It's as though the hangover is supposed to get you moving in the right direction. All my hangover did was convince me not to go out next New Year's. Thank you very much, I'll just stay here and watch the Trading Spaces marathon and eat frozen hors d'oeuvres.

I understand the purgative/repentant symbolism of this whole weird holiday, but I can't really relate. If I denied myself all year and had this one day of letting loose, it might mean more. But the fact is, who denies themselves any more? And after Christmas, even, when everyone's gone overboard with everything.

I think New Year's should take place in March or something. At least then we'd all be depressed enough to think that going out and drinking three bottles of wine was maybe a good idea, or at least medically necessary.

1 Comments:

At 7:48 AM, Blogger The Cybrarian said...

But wanting to get propsed to isn't actionable! Though I did pack him a lunch this morning, with a love note, and last night he got quite the blowjob, and after I was like, "sigh, you're so wonderful, I want to be with you forever!" But you know, I'm so moody, next week he could be on my last nerve again.

You should resolve to make a red light-up shrine to the Virgin out of cat fur.

Hey did you ever sign up for that rock-climbing class?

 

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