2013 will be an odd year. It also contains every digit between 0 and 3. If you happen to be as oddly superstitious as I am, you understand where my fixation comes from. Uneven years have a way of putting me on edge, and I’m grateful to them for that. It’s time I light a fire under my ass.
Now, would I call this a New Year’s Resolution? Probably not. I’d rather call it a New Year’s Anxious Argument with Myself.
So self, here’s the gist of what I want me to do:
-write a helluva lot more poetry
-hone a short story factory in one of the lesser-used recesses of my brain
-seriously scout creative writing MA/MFA programs in Chicago
-submit submit submit
If I can carry out these tasks, my life will progress steadily and my fulfillment will rise considerably.
2012 was an even keel kind of year. Nobody was sure whether or not we’d be burning in a pit of hellfire by now, so they stuck to the program.
No more, people. Be adventurous. You hear me, self?