This year I’m declaring independence from a few very specific things. I’m not big on New Year’s resolutions because I always forget to make them and because they end up being too lofty and because I break them anyway before I remember I’m not supposed to.
I think it makes more sense to try to cut out the stuff in my life that is causing me hassle, complication, grief, drama, pain, blah blah blah. So in the true spirit of the founding fathers, or not because actually this has nothing whatsoever to do with them at all but I’m taking great liberties (see how I did that? Use the word “liberties” to try to make you think I have some idea what I’m talking by using words that connect my nonsense with the actual, legitimate concepts of freedom and liberty associated with the holiday of Independence Day? Clever. Or not. Probably not. Probably just blathering as yet another way to avoid having to do those pesky household chores like caring for pets and children and bathing preparing food rather than lying on a sandbar in a far flung Bahamian province. Bitter? Me? Nah.
This year I’m declaring independence from:
Uncomfortable underwear. Life is too short for painful elastic or any of the other mean things underpants can do to you. Plus, comfortable underwear can be attractive, too.
Dealing with the weeds in my garden on a regular basis – or, rather, worrying about dealing with the weeds in my garden on a regular basis since I never actually did deal with them on a regular basis. I have a big garden. I don’t have time to weed. Someday I will. Not now, though. So. Weeds. Oh well.
Work politics. Not getting involved. Not. Gonna. Do. It. Don’t. Wanna. Know. (unless it’s really really really good dirt, then please by all means, do tell.)
Trying to keep up with new music. If it finds me, I’ll be delighted. Thrilled. Tickled. But I can’t seek it out. I lack the means and the will.
Answering the phone during dinner. If I manage to get everybody to the table, I’m not going to break the spell by getting up to talk on the phone.
Third and Fourth guessing my parenting skills. I’ll still second guess, because I can’t not, but today as I watched a woman “punish” her five year old by giving him two minutes of her undivided, calm, one on one attention explaining why shoving wasn’t nice and he was nice and it’s not nice to shove but he’s so nice so he shouldn’t shove as a “time out” after which he promptly got up and repeated the offending behavior about eleven times I thought to myself, “I think I might actually have a handle on this parenting thing that some people might not.”
Contemplating re-selling nice kid clothes/books/furniture via Craigslist/eBay/whatever. Eff it. To Goodwill it goes. Think of all the time I could spend googling Hollywood gossip and watching Tour De France replays instead of photographing GapKids polo shirts and posting them on line to earn 2.37 and a trip to the post office.
Not doing things because I’m afraid that I won’t be any good at them or because I’m afraid of what people will think of me. That’s sounds vague and kind of pukishly Chicken Soup for the Soulish. So to clarify, I’ll just say, that it’s nice to get to a point in my life where I’m starting to feel OK enough about the choices I make in my life that I don’t care what other people think about them, or the chick making them.
One more thing, unrelated:
I love fireworks.