Because I am super serious about my 2018 Literary Boss To Do List, I made a Google Sheet to track my progress on each of the areas I indicated would be a priority.
I’m pleased to report that it is only January 11 but I am just three items away from having all my January tasks complete: two more blog posts for the month, and one more submission to a literary magazine or book contest. This means I have read two books so far, and written a book review. Ta da!
My book reading will be supported in part by the young adult novel writing class I’m currently taking; I have to read 5 YA novels assigned by the course and a sixth of my choosing. But I imagine they’ll be quick reads.
I also reorganized my bookcase this morning, which was in a sad state of affairs after being disorganized by some nice folks repairing my apartment from a small flood in December. For this reason, I now know exactly how many unread books I have to choose from. And it’s a lot. A lot. It’s embarrassing, actually.
I don’t like New Year’s resolutions and try not to make them. It seems like a recipe for disaster to me to forge new promises at the darkest, bleakest, most depressing point in the year. Aren’t we all desperate for change? Don’t we all just want to be thinner, younger, happier, more better? Sure.
Plus, it seems like when everyone fails to fulfill their resolutions, it gives you a kind of permission to do the same.
Typically, I make resolutions (in whatever form) around my birthday, which is in the spring, which, to me, is a sensible time for beginnings.
But let me say that sure, there are things I want to accomplish in 2010, the calendar year, and I might even write those things down and track them as if they were “goals,” but not resolution.
A resolution is something that mends. It concludes. It decides.
How final! Instead I will shoot for the moon. I will probably miss. But I will surely still be among stars.
One thing I really need to recommit to is my exercise routine. My back injury barred me from gym visitations for more than three weeks now, and let’s just say that back injury + no gym + food-based holidays = yuck. Let’s just say my jeans feel like they belong to someone else now.
But I’ve enjoyed sleeping in. I feel like I’ve been having an affair. With my comforter. It’s luscious.
Over the weekend I cleaned out my storage closet here at home, expecting to toss a lot of junk out, but was pleased to discover the mess was due primarily to poor organization and not pack-ratishness. I did set aside some items to donate to Goodwill, though, so I’m hopefully cutting down on the number of things I’ll have to move…if I ever move…
Among my discoveries, though, was the yearbook I made for my RAs when I was a Hall Director at ASU from 2001-2002. It was my first year on the job here and I had a great year. Along with a picture page, everyone in the yearbook answered a series of questions, one of which was “Where will you be in five years?”
It might be no coincidence that nearly exactly five years have elapsed since I wrote down those goals, and honestly, I haven’t seen them since, but it was interesting how many of them have come to pass:
1. Finish my grad program (done)
2. Publish something (done and done)
3. Stop living in residence halls (DONE)
4. Be teaching poetry at a university (not done, but I found something I like better)
Interesting how time has a way of working things out…