Happy New Year!

Saw the old year out, and the new one in, with a touch of the flu — body aches, low-grade fever, upset stomach and woozy head.  Managed to get to a friend’s party, but we were out of there by 11:30 and I was in bed by 11:45, sound asleep by 11:46 and poor husband had to see in the new year on his own.  Sorry about that, love.

Hope this isn’t an indication of how the rest of the year is going to go . . . .

Now it’s daylight, almost 2:00 pm and here I lie on the couch with pillow and blanket, accompanied by two cats.  Not a bad way to begin the year, actually.  Low-key, stress-free, relaxing.  I don’t feel in tip-top form, but that will come and being a bit “down for the count” gives me the luxury to sit here, muse over the past year, and anticipate what’s to come.

Made your resolutions yet?

I’m not certain I believe in them.  They strike me as ways for people to feel bad about themselves.  Let’s face it — how many of us make resolutions and NEVER break them?  Not many, I’d bet.  The trick is to not beat yourself up over it.  It’s like being on a diet — so you fall off the wagon.  Big deal.  Get back on.  We all make mistakes.  The trick is to not make the mistake a habit.

With that in mind, what are MY resolutions this year?  It’s a motley bag, rest assured.

More exercise and less excuses.  More writing and less excuses.  Finish “Call of Blood” and begin “A Woman Scorned.”  Write several short stories.  See “Weathercock” a reality in my hot little hands and sell many, many copies of it.  Go forward in life with a larger heart.  Stand up for myself.  Not get involved in the emotional turmoil of others.  Keep a distance from family wrangling.  Spend time with the people who bring me joy and keep to a minimum the time I have to spend with people who don’t.  Lose the “friends” I need to lose and make new ones.  Enjoy myself.  Find some beauty and blessing in every day.  Don’t take things so personally all the time.  And (unfortunately) to not be quite so trusting.  (My trust has taken a huge bruising this year.)

There’ll be more, I’m sure, but that’s enough for now.  A weighty list.  I wonder how I’ll do?


About Melissa Crandall

Longer ago than I care to admit--although I will--I cut my writing teeth on fanzines and media tie-in novels. Since then, I've moved on to narrative nonfiction, speculative fiction, and essays. I write to explore and understand the world around me, the things I see and experience nearby or from a distance. If I shake myself up, cool. If I shake you up, even better. Not gratuitously--what's the point in that?--but to set what I know, or think I know, on end and realize, "Well, doesn't it look different from this side!" My work is neither sexually explicit nor graphically violent. Let's face it - your imaginations will come up with things far worse than anything I could write, no matter how descriptive. Besides, it's just not my thing. I live in Connecticut with my supportive husband Ed, a cat named Ruby who might just think she's a dog, and an epileptic Australian shepherd named Holly who isn't quite certain anymore who she is, except she knows she loves her mommy.
This entry was posted in Connecticut, CT, Essays, Holiday, Honesty, Melissa Crandall, Memoir, Truth, Writer, Writing and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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