New Year’s Irresolution
Happy New Year’s and welcome to 2025. Guaranteed to be just as mediocre as last year if you’re lucky. I had to take a little time off from The Bitter Bitch over the last month or so. To recalibrate my mind and refocus. There’s been a lot of changes and some spiraling. In fact, for someone who never took a step in any direction for more than a decade, in a year I’ve quickly become that girl that no one ever knows where she works, if she works, or where she is except by the occasional Instagram post. I like the idea of that, but I miss the dependability. I was once a rock, and now I’m simply a tumbleweed in the wind.
Just a year ago, almost to the very day, I was saying goodbye to my house and hitting the road for the adventure of a lifetime. I was looking for answers to all of life’s questions. I was searching for the missing piece to my fulfillment puzzle, the antidote to my eternal unhappiness. I though becoming a freelance hippy was going to open up a whole new world to me. Well, it did not, but that’s because life and the universe have a way of utterly fucking you at every turn. I got three really great months at best. I flew my drone over the Blythe Intaglios and through the Rio Grande Gorge. I saw bighorn sheep, elk, and even an oryx. I got to scratch off White Sands and Saguaro National Park from my bucket list. I ran around the mountainside for a month in New Mexico with some guy I met online (I said exciting, not smart). I met new people, I ventured new places, and I learned a hell of a lot more about diesel engines than I ever wanted to but soon I was forced home where I spent the last six months fucking my life up even more than before I left, chasing all the same demons and flying even closer to the sun.
This year has already thoroughly fucked me. Coming fresh off Cutie’s incredibly expensive surgery and an unexpected firing at work (not a tragedy), 2025 emotionally and financially bankrupted me with a surprise dog fight that resulted in my cat’s broken jaw and a $7k emergency surgery. I had to stand out in the cold and call my creditor’s for a line increase because they didn’t take Amex (a lesson in portfolio diverseness). Coupled with our new need to move without any documented income, we were forced to shell out another $7k deposit (and I thought home ownership was a drag). So today we get the keys to our very own slice of high rise living in this overpriced cesspool we call Las Vegas. Socks is on the mend for the next eight weeks as we search for a job to pay our new exorbitant rent. But we’re all alive, he will recover, and we will have a nice, quiet, dog free environemnt to do it in so I can’t be that mad. I also can’t pay the rent next month but that’s a tomorrow problem for now.
I made a pretty important resolution to myself this year and that’s that we’re not making those stupid fucking things anymore. I’ve learned from the last four years that resolutions are only broken promises to myself. Not merely an encouragement to do better, be better, or hold one accountable but a tradition of setting ourselves up for failure that resounds through the next 12 months, weighing on us the reminder that we’re not only epic fucking failures but that we can’t keep the smallest of promises, even to ourselves. Yeah, I prefer to take my daily dose of self loathing in a more non committal fashion like eating a whole pan of brownies or fucking emotionally unavailable men.
So this year, off to such an absolutely fantastic fucking start, we’re going to try stability and balance. For example, instead of throwing out all our worldly belongings and uprooting our whole lives, we’re moving into a little apartment and traveling lightly on the weekends. Instead of taking phentermine and obsessively counting calories, we’re going to eat more salads and take the stairs. Instead of lashing out like a chemically imbalanced teenager, I’m going to take a minute and try evaluating my crazy before I execute. Instead of vowing to be a better person, I’m just going to be less shitty. No emotional outbursts, no shame spiraling, no ex calling, and maybe throw in a pinch of gratitude. I don’t know, I’m still working out the details. All I know for sure is that 2025 to going to be trash too so do yourself a favor and stop the insanity. No resolutions. No promises. Just put the brakes on the bullshit and wind down the fuckery. Commit 100% to “now” and maybe you’ll find you’re exactly where you want to be and who you want to be without changing a single thing.