When Abraham Lincoln wrote those words in 1863, they became part of the Gettysburg Address.

I don’t have to tell you that I am not possessed of that level of greatness, either in terms of statesmanship or literary ability. But it’s a brand new year, so I thought I should somehow address the subject of resolutions, agonizing as that may be.

Yes, I hear your collective Grro-o-o-a-a-a-nnn!!! But never fear — I no longer bother with the resolutions that won’t make it past January 2nd, like losing those ten (or so) ugly pounds, sticking to a smart budget, or re-joining the gym. I have other, bigger, better things in mind this year. So read on, please . . .

First: I resolve to acknowledge my age. That doesn’t mean I’m going to share it with the world; I’m just going to admit to myself that I am no longer “a little past middle age,” or “getting older,” or “a lively senior citizen.” I am officially an old person. I’ve lost many friends and relatives in the last several years, some even a little younger than myself, and it’s hard. I’m not merely in the last quarter of my life; according to the actuarial tables, I should already be dead. So there.

Second: Because each morning that I wake up is now a bonus day, I resolve not to do things just because I should. If I should do laundry but don’t feel like it . . . screw it. If I should catch up on my emails but don’t feel like it . . . to hell with it. And if I should make that dentist appointment but don’t want to . . . well, f*ck that too. There’s always tomorrow. And if there isn’t, well then, what will any of those other things matter?

Third: I resolve to eat whatever I damn well please. Oh, not enough to make myself sick — whatever time I have left, I’d rather not spend it heaving my guts into the toilet bowl. But if I want extra soy sauce on my Chinese food, I’m not going to count every last gram of sodium. And if those brownies are calling my name, I’m not going to worry about the sugar, or the caffeine in the chocolate. One or two brownies won’t kill me, and if they do . . . f*ck that too. I’ve already exceeded my “use by” date by several years anyway.

Fourth: I’m tired of always trying to be ladylike. If I want to swear like a longshoreman, I won’t worry about who’s within earshot. If I choose to dress like a hooker, that’s my prerogative. (I’ve never actually tried it, but that’s beside the point; I’m just keeping my options open.) And as for my posture, I’m always dressed in long pants anyway, so why do I have to keep my knees together when I sit down? That’s fine for royalty, but in case you hadn’t noticed, I am not Kate Middleton. So I resolve to be comfortable, no matter what.

Fifth: And speaking of comfort, I resolve not to agonize over every little unexpected noise that might escape my tired old body. I certainly won’t do it on purpose, but an accident is an accident, and if anyone is offended by a fart, they can just leave the room. And I won’t blame it on the dog, the way my mother used to do. No one believed her anyway.

Sixth: I resolve not to suffer fools any longer. If you’re an idiot, or a pain in the ass, please don’t try to be my best friend. I don’t have time or energy to waste trying to talk sense into you.

Seventh: I resolve, for the first time in my adult life, not to vote this year. There is no candidate worth voting for in any party, and I refuse to pretend I’m proud to wear that little sticker that says I did my civic duty. I stopped being proud when Truman left office.

Eighth: I resolve to take more naps . . . Oh, never mind; I already do that. Moving on.

Ninth: I resolve to continue doing the same things I’m already doing to keep from losing my mind entirely: reading, doing puzzles, playing Scrabble, and — most important — writing. It may take me a moment longer to remember a name or a familiar word these days, but as long as I can keep cranking out this blog in some coherent form, I know I’m doing all right.

Tenth: And finally, I resolve to stop apologizing because I can’t walk faster, or hear what you’re saying, or reach the stuff on the upper shelf. I’m old, I’m short, and my joints are stiff. So be patient with me; you’ll find out what it’s like, soon enough.

*. *. *

That’s about it, I guess. I feel one of those naps coming on now, and not a moment too soon. I’ll just be turning on the TV, snuggling up with my fuzzy blanket, and grabbing some zzzzzzzz . . .

Happy New Year, one more time,
Brendochka
01/01/24