Tomorrow

Well, for lack of a better phrase, or in fond embrace of a rather apt one, the fat lady has sung.

2011 is over.  Mostly.  99% over.   And I say good riddance.  I won’t dwell on the things that didn’t happen that I wanted to happen.  I won’t dwell on what is negative and painful and in the end, inconsequential.  There really isn’t even anything to rehash here, that was how boring the year truly was, and in some ways I pity those few of you brave enough to have made this voyage with me.   We have made it.  Posted once again 500 words every single day.  Sort of like the postal service, only without the jazzy uniforms.  It is possible.  This is what it proves.  It – whatever the thing is that you want to commit to – is possible in one day increments.

Today we made the usual decisions.  Tomorrow, everything changes.  Tomorrow, everything is new and fresh and we exist with purpose once again.   I rode with my sister to her traveling job, not wanting to sit at home with my glutinous thoughts and before our first stop, I got a call from my mother who has been in talks with the great whatever (she and somebody have been parleying about something) and has decided that she would like to help me “get on track.”   It’s a funny thing because on the face of it, it seems rather overbearing that my slender mother would decide that she’s going to make my resolutions for me.  But that crashes right up into my determination to do this anyway and wanting her support, wanting that thrust of energy and  planning and shopping and kitchen space and…belief.  Knowing that helps.  But.  She wants me to do low carb.  That’s a very different plan than the one I have going.  Very different and I know that works, but like anything, it works when you stick to it.  It doesn’t work if I decide I want a ricetastic Chinese dinner for my birthday with red velvet cake – which I do –  or a drink now and then or to be able to deal with the standard deviations that come with real life food eating.  And I know that I have to be able to say no to things, I just want to do this on my own terms.  So I told her tersely, I’d call her back.

And I thought about it for a couple of hours.  I can’t throw off the plan I’ve invented just because my mother wants me to lose weight in the manner she thinks is fastest/most effective. I have to remain functional.  I have to remain grounded and alive and I have to resolve myself to the epic struggle of changing my habits.  So eventually I called her back and think I found away to ask her to still help me and let me have some room to do this full-throttle my way.  And she didn’t lose her very sweet enthusiasm, which relieves my poor daughter’s heart.

So we’ll see.   We’ll see because I’ll show.

It doesn’t feel like the end.  It just feels like a new day.  A new chance.  A new beginning.  Everything is a little bit sorta more possibler.  I don’t want to waste it by

2012:

Guitar.  Orlando.  Mumford.  Writing.  New floors.  Clean, happy house.  Driving fearlessly.  Smiling inappropriately.  Laughing myself out of trouble.   Having way too much that makes me happy to do to worry about eating myself sick.

Just give it another go, darling.  Give it another go.

 

The Girl Who Made Good

Over 182,500 words.

I think I’m hesitating about writing this post because I want it to somehow be the perfect sumnation of this year.  When I started, January 1, 2010, I half-resolved, half-joked that I would write  500 words in this journal every day for the whole year.  I wouldn’t skip a day, I wouldn’t shorten a day, I wouldn’t copy and paste from something already written.  It didn’t have to be good or appropriate or even about weight loss, though it often was.  It was all about proving to myself and myself alone that I could set a massive writing goal and do it start to finish.

I have a serious problem with perfectionism and my reaction to the basic fact that we’re never going to hit perfect is to do nothing.   Nothing at all.  Can’t screw up what you haven’t done.  In particular, this impacts my writing.  And I want, sometimes viscerally, to write.

Lustrata was an attempt to circumvent the perfectionism.  It was not a question of quality (goodness knows if you re-read these entries, you’ll see that’s true), just presence.  Just doing it so that the question stops being: Can I sit down, right now, and write something?  Is there any excuse that is so profound that should stop me from doing it?  Yes, and as it turns out, no.  I can do it and the joy and relief I find in it overwhelms any real desire I have to concern myself with writing the perfect 500 words.  I only have to write that day’s 500 words – whatever they are.

Lustrata was about burning out the brainwashing that things have to be the way they have to be because just because.

And I know I haven’t made it all happen the way I wanted to – not in a perfect manner but just in a good faith effort manner – and I’m sorry that’s that.  But this is a whole new year we’re looking at less than four hours from now.  And none of this is stopping.   The writing continues, here, and with my poetry and the Novel and anything else I care to dabble in.  I am closing the project, officially, however.  I am going to post here everyday, make no mistake, but if something screws with me or if my 2011-style life doesn’t allow me to make the post, I’ll just live – disappointed, but the pudding we’re proving is just being served up today.

It has been a strange day, with house painting and now, our heater’s gone out.  That’s terrific, really, but I’m not so bothered.  It’ll turn out alright.  This is not the booze talking either.  Just like this diet tomorrow.  Just like my big plans for my 2011.  The answers are not right in front of me, but they’re not so far, I just have to wave my arms a bit and move the fog out of my face, turn around a bit and ask questions.

12:01am, it begins, this new year, this new chance.  It is all rhetoric and a trick, but it’s our trick and it’s our way to gauge ourselves.

Bless you all and I’ll see you, magically, simply, tomorrow.