With one or two major exceptions (getting married; moving back to Austin), 2015 was a shit year. So I’m writing it off in lieu of 2016 — it’s a new dawn, it’s a new day and I am looking boldly into the face of tomorrow! I’m about to turn 34 (again), I just got my tarot read, and as of yesterday morning, I’m finally feeling my Goat’s upward momentum of the new year, so here it goes — my goals, predictions, and premonitions for 2016. Written as a tête-à-tête with myself.
ME: Goal 1. I will go to the gym at least three times a week.
MYSELF: It’s always good to start with a gym goal. Something you can drop after the second week of January, after having skipped the first week of January because…
ME: It’s cold!
MYSELF: It’s cold?
ME: I’m hungover?
MYSELF: Probably both. And then, though an earnest attempt is made in week two, you’ll quickly remember how tired you get from that stupid elliptical. On Monday you’ll program in a respectable 30 minutes —
ME: 5 warm up, 10 jogging, 5 running, 5 walking, 5 cool-down
MYSELF: Uh huh. but by Wednesday you’re already down to 20, and by Friday, you give up as soon as Tubthumping ends on your 90s Retro Hilarious Funmix Workout Edition —
ME: Didn’t Tubthumping come out in 2002?
MYSELF: Not by a long shot. Chumbawumba is pure 1997.
ME: Ah yes, we were 16.
MYSELF: Anyway. By the third Monday in January, this goal is already dead and gone.
ME: Yeah, especially since we’ll be on vacation then.
MYSELF: Oh, Canada!
MYSELF: Prediction. You’ll start drinking beer at breakfast.
ME: No. I am — at best — a Happy Hour and Evening Masturbation drinker. I’ll never drink before five o’clock.
MYSELF: You know it’s only 2pm now?
ME: So? Who are you — TikTok? Am I your tornado-tossed Fairuza Balk?
MYSELF: Shut up. It’s a rainstorm in the second Oz, anyway. You are —
MYSELF: It’s 2:24 pm and you have a beer in your hand as you’re writing this.
ME: *hits save* ; *closes window* … *waits til 4pm* ; *opens file*
ME: Nuh-uh. It’s 4:30.
MYSELF: You are pathetic.
ME: Goal 2! More sex! Sex, but like, all the time. Lots of sex. Sex sex sex. With my husband! (mostly)
ME: What do you mean, ‘Sure.’?
MYSELF: I mean… y’know. Sure.
MYSELF: Prediction! You’ll enjoy the new Star Wars movie more than the new Star Trek movie.
ME: Yeah, okay.
ME: Goal 3. Ugh. IDK, like, make a schedule for my life or something?
MYSELF: You *literally* just did a whole post about that at the beginning of December.
MYSELF: You’re following the Martha Stewart calendar?
ME: Oh, yeah. I totally forgot about that.
MYSELF: You are infuriating.
ME: Pff. You mean you are infuriating. You’re me, remember?
MYSELF: Whatever. You’re stupid and so are your “holiday goals”. They’re just New Year’s Resolutions, regardless of —
ME: — ooo! What if we made a chore wheel out of a hamster ball and then rolled it around the house to determine which room to clean each day?
MYSELF: I hate you.
MYSELF: Prediction. You’re probably getting fired. You know that, right?
ME: It’s called a non-extension of contract. I’m not “getting fired”, I’m being “not contractually re-engaged”.
ME: Happy 2016!
But not for nothing, here are seven actual thoughts about how 2016 and I will get along. Feel free to hold me accountable for any or all of it.
1.) The writing thing will finally take off. 2000 followers (on whatever format I’m on) by June. Follow and Share for more hot linguistics, digital pedagogy, tech ramblings, and soft core gay fantasy. Oh! and angst. Lots of angst. (So, I’m like Foucault, basically.)
2.) I’ll finally get my linguistics book off the ground. Maybe by July or August? — it’s gonna be great — “Sci Fi Linguistics”! — demand it from your favorite publishing magnate today!
3.) I’ll lose 15 pounds, then gain five, then level out, then I won’t give a shit about it anymore. This is the last year I’ll really care about how flabby I am or am not. This body is my own. meh. But I do hope to move more. I’ve been pretty stagnant in 2015. I need to move the body.
4,) I’ll get my Rocket Sleeve tattoo finished. Let’s call that one for April or October (certainly not during lake weather, though). Technically, I’ll also have to get it started, but the goal is finishing, not starting.
5.) I’ll unpack all my boxes — physical and metaphorical. Nah, not really. I’m pretty sure I’ll still have at least two unpacked boxes by this time next year. So is this a goal, then, or…?
5b.) Okay, so Real Goal Five then is to put my creative work out there. Sell, market, install, collaborate, perform, read, etc.
6.) High on the (imagined) success of my live performances, I’ll make an attempt at podcasting, but said attempt will turn awkwardly into a genre mashup of Slam Poetry and Lonely Man Talks to Plant. I’ll try again a few months later, then get bored with it.
7.) Ehm. I’ll sell something on Etsy. Or at least I’ll try really hard to get something sold from my Esty shop, mostly because I like writing the flavor text for the items, no so much because I care about selling, but man, that extra $30 could buy a week’s worth of breakfast beer.