Only a few days into the New Year and already I lack the energy to come up with my annual list of lies that I euphemistically call "Richie's New Year's Resolutions."
I looked at my post from last year, and sadly, I apparently failed at just about each and every one.
Lose that extra weight? Nope.
Stress less? Nope.
Become more of an optimistic naysayer?
Well, let's just say that one is a work-in-progress, which is just another creative way for me to spell f-a-i-l-u-r-e.
I suppose at some point I should just give up this attempt at self-improvement and optimisim and quit trying to be that something I'm not. I'll never be Miss Susie Sunshine with rose colored glasses. You'll never find me sitting around the ol' camp fire, holding hands with strangers and singing "Kumbaya." All of that stands about as much of a chance of happening as dear ol' Oprah reading my book and asking me to appear on her new network.
When pigs fly, my dear, when pigs fly.
However, for a fleeting nano-second, I did take a stab at optimism. What few warm fuzzy feelings I had vaporized when, after only a few days into the New Year, we continued to remain weeks behind on our yearbook pages. As if that wasn't bad enough, the computer program we use opted to flash those nifty little "fatal error" messages which pretty much stopped all work.
Good thing I have my yearbook rep on speed dial--the number 6. (I'll let you ponder the significance of equating yearbook with that number.)
After a brief conversation where we established (1) I wasn't happy and (2) the software developers were morons, Mr. No. 6-On-My-Speed-Dial said he would send out their new technology whiz kid speedy quick to fix my problem.
Mr. No. 6-On-My-Speed-Dial (whom I've known 20-something years) made me promise to be nice to the new guy.
I'll just add that to my New Year's laundry list of hopes, promises and lies.
And while we're waiting to see how that goes, I think I'll just start back up my Big Fat Stupid Head timer.