I want… January 7, 2007

It’s nearly the end of the year, which means it’s nearly time to start making New Year’s Resolutions I probably won’t keep. I mean, I’ve been making them for years, and I don’t have a whole hell of a lot to show for it.

So, anyway, being the somewhat selfish person that I can sometimes be, I thought I’d make a list of all the things I WANT, and from that, I can pilfer out all the things I can do something about, and from that, I can pilfer out all the things I’m somewhat WILLING to do something about, and from that, I can come up with a, possibly, realistic list of New Year’s Resolutions.

So, here goes.

I WANT:

1. World peace. I mean, doesn’t everybody? Well, no, I guess not. I’m starting right off the bat with something I can neither do anything about nor view as realistic. World peace is ridiculous. It just ain’t gonna happen. We’re all just too…crabby. And selfish.

2. Several thousand dollars I wouldn’t miss after pouring them into my ‘56 Chevy. Because I really want my ‘56 Chevy to be rockin’. I don’t want a new motor for it. I want some motor genius to come along and take some of my extra money to reconfigure that 50 year old straight-6 to run like new. I mean, it’s nothing special, really. It’s painted aqua-blue, for god’s sake. But it’s able to power a car that probably weighs as much as my house. Plus, it’s pretty. And original. And this is an ancient, old station-wagon. It’s not some crazy muscle car. It’s a really cool old station wagon. And I just want to be able to start it on the first, or even the second, try, without having to rub the dashboard seductively and say things like, “Come, on Bessie, show me your stuff, baby, you can do it Bessie, yes! Yes! Okay. I get it, you’re not ready. Let’s try again, come on Bessie…” while the engine roars and then sputters. I also want some old car paint magician to restore the beautiful copper and cream thing we’ve got going, to rid her of her very blessed few rust spots, and to pop out the two little dents my husband put into the hood when KNEELING on her to reach something in the upper reaches of our former garage. Because, I’d like to stop making him feel guilty about that. He didn’t mean it.

3. This is way harder than I thought it would be when I first came up with this idea. I guess I don’t really want that much. Anyway, I’d really love for the weird black cloud that has been hovering over my friend Susan to blow the fuck away. This woman can NOT catch a fucking break. It’s bordering on the ridiculous. It’s a damn good thing she has not only a sense of humor, but an ability to persevere. I’m pretty sure I’d be in a mental institution right now. I’ll save the saga for another post, or an essay, or something. Suffice it to say she’s been through enough already, and I completely admire her ability to get up every day and go to work and continue on. She’s a good strong soul, and I’m grateful for her.

4. To have time to write, and when I have the time, I want to actually spend it writing.

Update:  I encountered this post in my saved, but not posted posts.  I don’t really remember when I wrote it, but I assume it was sometime before New Year’s Eve.  It amazes me sometimes to look back over the things that I’ve written, in my blog, sure, but mostly in my journal and in the accumulated piles of file folders filled with fiction and non-fiction that I’ve written for classes, and to sift through it all and try to remember who I was when I wrote it.  I’m still pretty much the same person I was when I wrote the above, but about a year ago, I had a pre-registration conference with one beautiful and amazing Patricia McNair, a full-time faculty member at Columbia College, and she handed me this fat manila folder filled with the crap I had submitted, oh so many years ago (13?  14?) to apply to grad school right after I graduated from college.  I went, immediately after our meeting, to the South Loop Club, ordered a Ketel One and tonic and a turkey and swiss on a croissant, heated, with fries, and read through what I literally thought was my best work, the work that best represented the kind of writer I was.  I was terrible, although it amazed me that full lines of some of the crap I had written are still present in my thesis.

Whoever writes my biography better have a hell of a sense of humor.