Well hello, January! So nice of you to pop in. You know, right after December like that.
I know you’re just another month, but isn’t it funny all the hope and anxiety and heartburn that goes into you every year?
Thirty days have September, April, June and November…
But you, January! You are thirty-one days of vicissitude. (< My new favorite word. Look it up.)
The new workout, notebook and Christmas sweater are all staring at me, wondering why I’m afraid of them.
You love me too much, January. You have such high hopes for me and I feel like I let you down every time.
So, can we agree to disagree on the workout?
I’ll do the elliptical a few times a week, but let’s ignore anything with the words “race” or “run” in it.
What about the journal?
I love the notebook, but I think a daily journal entry would strangle my spirit, leaving it gasping by the side of the road, whispering gutturally, “Whyyy? Why do you care that I think I have more zits today than yesterday, and that I could kiss the person who invented soft pretzels?” It’s painfully true. Some things are better left unjournaled.
And as for the sweater?
I resolve to wear it and I will love it.
Thank you for wanting me to be better. Just for that, here’s a kitty.