I'm going to make it through this year, if it kills me.

I never made the requisite New Years goals and yadda yadda post for a reason.
I find them mundane and I don’t want to rush to make all these inane goals only to break them before the 31st of the same goddamn month.

But here is a truth:

I made one goal this year. It’s to learn to follow through. And I only mention it because little by little it’s happening.

Yes, I make big plans and do them- but the small things slip away.
How many to do lists discarded?
How many stories unwritten and unfinished?
How many dates made and canceled?
How many books started and left behind?

Hence, I can make it to Europe but not to an interview.

And this is my year. My year where I finish what I start
Cue- elliot smith “nobody broke your heart. You broke your own because you can’t finish what you start…”



I am a mess of music and musings.
Always a mess.

But this mess made it through a 10 day silent meditation despite losing it- castaway style- on the 3rd day and playing silently with sock puppets.

This mess didn’t eat meat till the end of January, and somehow still got enough protein.

This mess put on her first business casual Annie Hall outfit, wore pearl earrings, taught a faux class for her NY Teaching Fellows interview, and didn’t throw up.

This mess skied the impossible un-groomed back of a Colorado mountain, wiped out, and got back up.




And mostly, this mess likes a girl who she won’t drop for something newer and fancier -mostly because there is nothing fancier- but also because it’s time to give something real a chance.

Enough: early abortions. early withdrawals. early terminations.
We stop things before we do them. It’s a fear of failure. Laziness. Procastination. Distraction. Facebook.

I want to grow, full bloom.

I can feel growth in my bones.

This mess is going to do things and tell about them.