Happy New Year!
2011 ~ thank the goddess you are here, I am ready for a symbolic shift. As you, dear Reader know, I cycle through times of diligence, discipline and productivity (DDP) contrasted with times of sloth, despair and waaayyyyy too much coffee. This is an ongoing thing with me. I am sure you have your own cycles you go through. The best I can hope for is for shorter sugar/caffeine/sloth cycles and longer DDP cycles. And an awareness of where I am and that I can either speed the cycle along or slow it down, respectively.
I mention this because, as it is the new year, it is the traditional time for reflection and setting new intentions. Not resolutions, but intentions. I like to review my journals for the past year and reflect on what has happened, how I dealt with things, what I am proud of, and where and what I need to continue to pay attention to. Then, I think about what I would like to happen in the new year and set some intentions.
It works well for me at this time of year not just because it is the “new year” but also because my birthday is in December and I often go on retreat around then plus, as a teacher, I have a break now. It all fits together nicely.
Lest you think I am too awesome let me tell you this secret: I have eaten so many cookies and pieces of fudge over the past week I think I have developed a true buddha belly. Even worse, I have washed said cookies and fudge down with wine and/or champagne almost every night. Boo me.
I simply can’t help myself. If it is in the house, on the counter, I can’t resist. I kinda like to feel as bad as possible, you know, hit rock bottom, before I break out of the sugar cycle.
I hope this does not come as a surprise – I know I have told you on more than one occasion I have very little self-discipline. Particularly in the areas of chocolate and butter and sugar and, well, fermented grape products.
By way of history, a story:
Once, in college, I had a bad night. I think the guy I was dating was mad at me – maybe we even broke up (BBac, are your ears burning?) In any event, I was distraught. My roomie was out for the night or the weekend and I, sad and broken hearted, decided to take it to the limit. This involved a trip to the grocery where I bought at least one bottle of wine and a box of Flaky Flix. If you don’t know the joy of Flaky Flix you really should. But don’t ask me to join you.
I went home, listened to sad break-up music and drank wine and ate Flaky Flix. And wrote bad broken hearted poetry. The evening ended with me in the bath, candles all around and the nearly empty box of Flaky Flix on the bathroom floor next to me.
Did you know that if you pour hot melted candle wax into the bath it solidifies on contact? Tres dramatique! But a real bitch to clean up the next day.
In any event, the point is that I do not know when to say when. Or, more truthfully, I do know when to say when, I just refuse to say it. I really prefer to eat the whole damn box of Flaky Flix and wash it down with the whole damn bottle of Louis Martini Cab (college wine of choice and budget) and melt down all the candles and fill the whole journal with bad poetry written until my pen runs out and then prick my finger and write in my own blood and slip out of the bath only when the water is ice cold and crawl into my bed with wet hair so I wake up not only hungover and in a sugar coma but also with pneumonia just so I get all the feeling bad out of the way at once .
Then, I have a renewed dedication to right relations, less alcohol, better poetry and, well, a really strong aversion to Flaky Flix. Even to this day.
Kind of like celebrating New Year’s.