These were my resolutions for last year:
1. Learn to adapt
2. Learn to cook
3. Get my drivers
4. Stop biting my nails
5. Get a job teaching
6. Find God
I think I did quite well.. 4 & 6 were probably the ones that troubled me the most, and the ones I didn’t quite achieve. Number 3 is probably a holy miracle from the bearded gods. Number 1 was achieved simply by not murdering my digsmates or my French lecturers. I kid, I kid.
What happened to the travel blog? Well, I haven’t been travelling. I’ve spent the last few days at my gran’s house and at a friend’s house, mostly chilling and eating. Not much to say, although it has been pleasant and mellow. I’m not too keen on another two entire weeks here, but the choice is not mine. I’m going to start reading some English set works, and maybe do some research for Drama. We’ll see. I’m really tired of eating.
A new year…What words are there to say? I think I’m just going to publish an old poem on mine – those of you who followed me on DeviantArt might remember it.
Twelve months pass slowly.
But when I stand on the borders of December and January,
I always bite my lip when I see Jan,
like bumping into an old lover on the street.
You just didn’t think you’d see him again,
Probably doing something undignified like blowing your nose.
You didn’t quite have the words ready.
And you didn’t know what the heck to do with your hands.
And your pockets were full.
So you kind of looked at him, alarmed. And your head kind of shook, as if saying, I’m really not sure what to do with what I’m seeing.
You realise it would be a little too shameful to pretend nothing has happened.
To just keep walking as if there isn’t a strong whiff of Strange in the air.
So you make some sort of plan in your head.
And if you’d had the time you would have sat down and written it on multiple pieces of paper too, on numbered pages and in bulleted lists.
You hold your breath.
You walk up to January.
And you give it your best shot.