The only thing that makes me twitch more than incessant whining is incessant whining about something that can be controlled. Whine about the weather, whine about your boss' love of singing hamster screen savers, but for the love of my sanity, don't whine about how you're bored or you're hungry or you're too fat or your shirt is ugly or whatever. Just do something about it.
And that is why I don't do New Years resolutions.
I've always been of the opinion that if I wake up one day and think something like, "Self, you eat worse than a goat walking through a landfill after smoking a joint. You really should start eating healthier food," I should probably just go ahead and make that change right away. Waiting until the calendar says it's a good day to start new things is the exact sort of procrastination I just don't need.
And, yet, this year I've been itching to make a list of somethings that might be mistaken for New Years resolutions.
I don't know if the itch is because I'll be turning 35 in a few weeks (O.M.G. ACK!) or if it's because last year really kind of sucked. It might be because this year started off so very perfectly. I dunno. I just know I feel like making a few . . . um . . . let's call them "goals" so I can keep a little bit of my dignity.
Not resolutions. Goals. Actually, no, they're promises.
And, hey! I'm off to a good start on a couple of those, thanks to a day with this little one:
(That's Jack's baby brother.)