Elliot

"April is the cruelest month," he said, but I wonder what T.S. Eliot was doing in January and February. After the presents have been opened, the lights put away, and the champaine drained, the only thing left to do is look down at the scale and discover how many pants sizes you've gone up.  And then realize how much work its going to take to get them to go back down.  The end of the holidays tends to put me in funk; I go through a good period of mourning because it doesn't seem like there is anything to look forward to for awhile. Then I emerge with some rather ambitious tasks and expectations.  

Sometimes I mistakenly sit down and think about all the things I have and have not accomplished in my 27 years.  I inevetably think about it when one year ends and another begins, for what better time to contemplate life's platter than when you've been strung out on sugar and alcohol for the better part of a week? Exactly.  But I didn't make any new year resolutions this time around; they're always broad and my life should be broad anyway. My life should be a resolution.  I'm always looking for some big oppportunity or decision to make - and I hate making big decisions!  But the thrill is what gets me.  Sometimes, I have realized, contentment should be a thrill.