It's come around again- that familiar morass of self-loathing and self-betterment I cal January. I halfway enjoy it, as I halfway enjoy most things that demand I gaze critically at my own navel (taxes! insurance forms! to-do lists! oh my!).
The truth is, January is the only month during which we self-flagellators catch a break. For a brief span of thirty-one days, we're not longer pessimists or self-saboteurs or Debbie downers. We're warriors!
Accordingly, here are my two January resolutions. I'm on day two! Did I mention the evils of procrastination?
1) Write (for fun, not for pay) every day, but only after I've finished writing for pay and thus don't have much energy or time or brain space. And in any case the ability to generate my own topics has atrophied now that someone else is generating my headlines, so my list of future writing topics looks like this: Why I'm not writing. Cats.
2) Embark on a hideously ill-advised 30-day fitness challenge bearing the embarrassing moniker of "the hook" (am I a suburban gangster?) and consisting of a series unending (fifteen-minute) video interval workouts led by a dangerously perky 12-year-old (mother/fitness guru) who has somehow succeed in enticing me to use my own money to torture myself.
It will, of course, be impossible to succeed- but then, failure's an old February friend.