My New Year’s resolutions, assuming I don’t drop dead from an anxiety attack from work, are:
1. Go to Europe. Even if it’s on Dec. 31, 2013, I am getting out of the country. Hell, high water, or both.
2. Move. I just got my “here’s what your new rent will be” notice. I could take on a car payment if I got out of this hole. And since I came home last night to a smattering of fire trucks, ambulances and cop cars after some nitwit blew himself up trying to shoot fireworks off the roof, I know it’s time. I will miss seeing the ocean every day of my life, but if I can save about $500 a month to move on the other side of the Intracoastal, I’m doing it. The only thing holding me back is Mom’s anxiety. But mine has to trump hers this time.
3. Buy a new car. Again, even if it’s Dec. 31. While I love having the first world problem of having two cars and having to live out of both, it’s time to own something reliable again.
4. Preserve my mental health. The way things are going, my life is going to be the death of me. I always sniffed at people who worked the 9-to-5 shift, and I sure as hell will never be able to. But I’m going to take my vacation time and do the best I can to not kill myself for people who can replace me without batting an eye. I want to achieve great things but I am not going to an early grave for these people, either. Even though that’s where I’m heading. So if I can trim the 8-to-8 life down to about 8-to-6, we’ll call it a victorious year.
5. Love myself. Nothing more needs to be said about that.