2018: Go Pound Sand

Christmas is over and people are already gearing up for New Years and all the failed resolutions that go along with it. I have Christmas pajamas I have yet to don and people on social media are asking about New Year’s toasts and what kind of resolutions I intend to make. You’re kidding right? I don’t commit to shit. I can’t even commit to a shopping list without amending it halfway through; either intentionally or accidentally because I’m forgetful as fuck and left the list at home. I’ve been going prematurely senile for the last 8 years now. I’m excited to see what the next couple of years has in store for me – or not as the case may be. You should be excited though. If my current lifestyle and habits are any indicator; I will be a delight to observe in my deterioration.

I try not to set resolutions for myself. I do this mostly because I hate letting myself down. I don’t mind letting you down so much, but when I fail at shit that I set to do for myself, it really pisses me off. It’s like a game of dueling banjos in my head; the dominant parts of my personality attack and chastise the softer and more nurturing parts. The forgiving character traits that I have are then rounded up and forced into a corner where they’re force-fed dog food, hosed down, then made to wear polyester floral print in neon shades.  

I will not be working out more for 2018. I will not be giving up red meat; you can kiss my ass. If you think I’m cutting candy out of my diet, you’d be sorely fucking mistaken there too. In fact, there is nothing at all that I plan to do differently with what I put into my body or how I treat this sad bag of skin. I just turned 38 and my “give-a-fuck” ran out a long ass time ago. The way I see it, the warranty is finally up on this carcass and I’m in a relationship – so effectively, it’s cool to give up. Sweatpants forever, ya’ll!

 As stated earlier, I don’t do resolutions. I don’t do shit that I think I have potential to fail at, with the exception of arranging words here and there. All of this being said, I’m breaking with tradition and my resolution this year will be to free myself of toxic people and relationships without fear.  

The question was posed to me the other day as to why we stay in relationships long after they serve us or stop being healthy. How the fuck am I supposed to know? Am I a pillar of mental strength? No. Last time I checked I was not a PhD. I have to spellcheck psychiatry (except just then) when I write it. I have some theories of course on why we stay in relational situations that do us damage, but I can’t say for certain they’re worth a crap. Hell, on most days I wouldn’t even trust my responses to a game of Trivial Pursuit. I can’t even remember the last time I played that game; that would involve human interaction and I really try to keep that shit to a minimal. Family and people I’m screwing is the circle I keep; any larger than that and it opens things up for large holiday gatherings, uncomfortable exchanges, and the potential they’ll ask you to house sit for them. Or worse yet: the dinner party.

Why do we stay in relationships that no longer serve us? I can’t speak for anyone but myself [you wouldn’t want me to anyhow, trust me] when I say that it boils down to fear. Fear of hurting the other person’s feelings. Fear of what they may think of me. Fear of the actual confrontation. Fear of not having that relationship anymore, as dysfunctional as it may have been, it became pattern and routine and comfortable – like worn in pajamas [I’m going to beat this pajama thing to death.] Fear of having to start over with someone else. The thousand forms of fear that would always keep me in shitty ass places with fucked up people. The truth is that ultimately I just didn’t have enough faith in myself or love for myself to accept that I could do better and that this twat was an abusive motherfucker; whether they knew it or not. News flash: if you have to tell someone more than once [twice if you’re generous] that they are being abusive, that shit is on them – grab your shit and don’t feel guilty if you never look back. Don’t learn the hard way.

I’m not a “balanced” woman; far from it. I don’t have the answers. What I do know today is that I would rather spend eternity with just my cats and Netflix than a host of false friends. I would rather spend all of my social security money on D batteries for my vibrator than spend time with a warm body that doesn’t appreciate me or treat me right. Eating cereal for dinner by myself sounds delightful when you hold it up next to potentially cooking for an ungrateful son-of-a-bitch, in sickness and in health, till death do us part. That is not the business. Toxicity breeds contempt; that’s the adage, right? Let’s be real. My ass is contemptuous enough as it is; I don’t need a toxic relationship to help me along. 2018 is my year to start giving even fewer fucks.

I will focus on making my relationships authentic and squash the ones that aren’t. I can’t waste energy worrying about how I will be received. “Create authentic relationships,” I can’t figure out if I want to throw up on myself for even uttering the phrase or if I want to sign up for a book club. It’s vomit, definitely vomit…

I don’t know why people stay in dead-end, harmful or one-sided relationships any more than I know why food always tastes better when someone else cooks it for you. That’s fact and you know it. I know if you don’t reclaim your self-worth, people will continue to take it and you for granted. That doesn’t mean you get to be a jackass, it means you get to be strong and independent. It means you get to love yourself. Don’t confuse loving and standing up for yourself with being an arrogant asshat, I’ve seen it happen and it’s terribly unflattering.

So that’s what I got; my first resolution in at least a decade. 2018: the year I said “Go pound sand!” If I stop talking to you and you can’t understand why…now you know, and knowing is half the battle. Yo, Joe!