I need a tissue
About ten years ago I made a resolution to never make a New Year’s resolution again. I figured I had tortured myself long enough, and I was done with this ridiculous tradition. I mean who the heck came up with this stressful over-achieving exercise? I’ll tell you who….a masochist.
Every year I would beat myself up for being too fat, spending too much money, and wasting too much time actually enjoying my life. I would make long lists of the things I wanted to change, and even how much time I would give myself to achieve these life-altering goals. As it happens with all drama-induced transformations, it would take a mere couple of weeks to fall back into my old patterns, have a massive panic attack, and curl into a crumpled lump of disappointment. 
Since I made my “no resolution” resolution, I have never been happier. I laugh in the face of cruel and unusual changes. I refuse to follow the pack. I adore being out in the cold, alone and resolution-less (if that’s even a word). Join me, my comrades in the mighty war against needless change! So what if I gained 65 pounds in the past two weeks? Maybe I do procrastinate. Who cares if I can’t pay that stack of bills sitting in my office? LEAVE ME ALONE! CHANGE IS YUCKY AND I DON’T WANNA HAVE ANOTHER BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!
Wow. Did I just yell at you? Gosh, I’m sorry. How embarrassing. I completely lost my composure. Sniff. Can I get a tissue please? PPPPpppppffhhhhhhhsssscccchhhhh.. Thanks, I needed to blow my nose. Ok….(big breath) I confess there’s another reason behind my outburst. It’s not just that I hate New Year’s resolutions, it’s just that my birthday is this Saturday, and I’m turning th… thirrrrr… thirrrrteeee… UGH. I’m turning 38 and I can’t stand it! Most people look forward to ringing in another 365 days, but not me. There’s always the music and fanfare, romantic midnight kisses, then BAM – I get OLDER. Having a January 2nd birthday is the absolute worst (yeah, you’ve been lured into a pity-party..welcome, here’s your hat.) 
I know, I know, “age is not important,” I don’t look “a day over 30,” and “you’re only as old as you think you are” bla bla– I feel very blah. I especially hate being called “M’am” instead of “Ms” at the grocery store the other day (dumb kid.) I’m officially done having birthdays. This is it. Sayonara! So party all you want tonight. Wear those flashy glow-in-the-dark 2010 glasses, gulp down copious amounts of champagne, and toast to my NEW New Year’s resolution. No more birthdays. Cheers!!! Where’s my drink?
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