Yesterday was the first day of the rest of my life. My New Year's Day was January 9, 2017. I had yet to acknowledge the new year as I started coming down with a full body mucus suit at about 10:30 p.m. on NYE. There I was with my Prosecco and expensive cheese counting down to the end of the purge of 2016 when I started getting that hard to swallow-hot behind the eyes-cotton packed in every orifice feeling. Fucking really? And then I died.
But then yesterday--feeling better and motivated--was a snow day. So that put me behind another day. I'm actually kind of right on time if you think about it, because nobody starts the new year on the 1st. They brunch and recover from New Year's Eve.
So today. Today is the first day of the rest of my life. And just like any other year I won't be making any solid resolutions. (Especially since my year is nine days shorter than everyone else's.) But like some of my friends who go completely sober in January to get their livers together, I've decided to take on a short term project. I am going completely news free for the first 30 days of (my) 2017. I am a news junkie. I absorb every plane crash and pussy grab and mass shooting and cardiac study. It takes up a good three quarters of my work day. And sucks up about seven eighths of my serotonin. It's time to take a step back. Play dumb. Be the damsel in distress. Woefully uninformed. Talk about only eye shadow at my next social function.
It will come with some challenges. Like--General Assembly session convenes tomorrow and like it or not, I have to participate. And I will miss out on all but bits and pieces of the Presidential Inauguration, which boycott or free joints or whatever, I would've watched anyway because it's just the kind of pomp and circumstance I live for. This also means I will be severely limiting my social media intake-at least the feeds and timelines, only seeing headlines at the bar and in the doughnut shop.
I'll come back to shore just in time for the Oscar's and the Grammy's-because, duh. (Lucky for me I timed this just right for the Golden Globes.)
I'm looking forward to the break--to be empty and vapid. I've already started. This morning I sang Zayn's Pillowtalk all the way to work after waking from a sex dream about Milo Ventimiglia. Actually, it could've been just a make out dream. The details are fuzzy. And I'm not really sure I'd let him do it to me...
I know some sad, heavy shit is coming in 2017. But for the next 30 days I don't have two fucks to give about it, I'll be too dumb to care.
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