Resolutions Schmesolutions!

Yay, 2011 is on like donkey dongs! I'm still not entirely over the fact that I can't say "oh-ten" like I could with the years "oh-seven," "oh-eight," and "oh-nine."  Perhaps this will be the year of spite where I refer to it as "oh-eleven" just to watch people as they nod and slowly realize that there's a possibility my math skills are not as they should be.

I don't have a new year's resolution. I gave up on that practice several years ago when I discovered that motivation was not something I have an abundance of.  Why? I've yet to figure that out. It's not laziness, for sure.  If I'm asked to do something like move a 300 lb television across the room, I hop to it like Captain Responsibility to save the day!

 If I'm left to my own whims to do simple things like make my bed, I'll get around to it...eventually (not really.)

So here's a list of things I *might* get around to this year:

Moar bullets, please!

Quit smoking.  I smoke. This is a fact.  Yes, I know it's bad for me.  No, I don't need to see more pictures of cancer infected lungs. I am aware of the consequences.

Sadly, my biggest motivator is money. Five dollars a pack just sucks.  I could use that money to promote the illusion that I'm a responsible adult, by doing things like paying back school loans.


 Get a job.  This one is difficult.  I have a couple factors working against me.  As a general rule, I hate people.  Sorry people.  Nothing personal. It's just that a lot of you are dumb and scary and your presence causes me to get headaches and to do this thing where I twitch and palpitate and eventually lose the ability to use my native language in an intelligent manner. Dealing with me in a work environment is much like going through the Dead Marshes with Smeagol/Gollum as your guide to Mordor.

I'm quite happy to do things in order to make my master happy, until I find out he's been fondling his ring of power and letting his fat and stupid assistant manager talk shit about me behind my back.

Lose weight.  This is a silly one.  I don't even know why I put that here.  I'm 135 pounds (9.6 stone, if you're British).   Still within a healthy range, but I'm rather squishy.

  I used to weigh barely 100 lbs, which is pretty freakin' skinny, but not for lack of eating. I love food.  The downside is, I'm unaccustomed to being squishy, and I've become pretty squishy.  The upside - boobs and butt.  On second thought, let's pretend this resolution never happened.


I'm going to attempt to delude myself into thinking I'm totally freakin' awesome.  Why? Why not.  I'm an awkward person.  I've tried pretending to fit in with people, but for some reason, they're able to sniff me out like a bunch of 18th century sailors on a boat with a cross-dressing female stowaway.   I got into a debate with my manperson today about my inability to accept criticism from strangers. Even though I still view the argument as a stalemate, we each made one valid point.

Me: People are assholes.
Him: People are assholes.

Why we disagreed about this, I'm not sure.  But one thing became clear: Assholes' opinions don't count.  So, if you don't think I'm totally freakin awesome, I think you're an asshole.  In my universe, assholes would vanish in a magical puff of smoke.

In a universe where assholes vanish, I'm left with only people who think I'm awesome.  There. Delusion accomplished!

Take my meds! I know this should be a no brainer, but, I'm really bad about remembering to put *anything* in my stomach on a regular schedule.

Like I've said before, I have more good days than bad days with my bipolar, but...just because I'm obliviously happy in my little world doesn't mean I'm stable. Quite the contrary. Some days I'm about as stable as a two legged bar stool on dollar margarita night.

I would add "attempt to procrastinate less," but seeing how I started writing this last week and I'm just now getting around to finishing, editing and adding my artwork of DOOM....yeah, that is so not happening.