I haven’t officially acknowledged the new year yet. I’m about as interested in forward-looking resolutions as I am in end-of-year wrap-ups, which is to say…ok, there you go, 2009 will be about living in the present. Brilliant prediction.
Meanwhile, I’m still churning out Southeast Asia eating memories (only four more to go, thankfully) and am back to my sad daytime yogurt, oatmeal, soup and salad routine (I loosen up after dark—I’m like a food werewolf). That is it.
It is still my rat year until January 26 anyway, no need to spaz yet (I hate to admit my Chinese zodiac year was kind of a bust and it scares the hell out of me to think that I won’t have another until I’m 48. 48?! I don’t even know if I’ll make it till 48) The only things I can even vaguely think of trying to improve upon in the next 350+ days are my liquid eyeliner applying skills, standing straighter and taller and not getting violently angry and high blood pressured by slow moving pedestrians; the handholders, multiple birth stollers, stumblers while texting and wide loads with weak cardiovascular systems who hold me up on staircases and on narrow passageways (I honestly believe it is possible to be fit and fat, though I see little evidence of it in the city. Don’t worry, skinny people who huff and puff and drag their feet have their own place in hell). But I still have a few weeks before I concern myself with those life changes.