Cold and windy. Ugh. Now we need snow to blow in on that wind and it would be perfect. Not! Five weeks from today Don and I will be awaking on our first Bonaire morning. Ahhh.
New Year's resolutions make me rebel. I make resolutions but only ones I know I'd keep anyway. And I always forgive myself if I fail. I mean, who else is going to be so understanding? I imagine other people's resolutions made in solemn compact in a sincere effort for betterment. Bullcrap. Better than ninety percent of New Year's resolutions are made by slobbering drunks, half crying, in a maudlin display of sentimental intoxication. Or by dried up spinsters sitting alone in their apartments drinking a helf-bottle of Asti they got on sale at the liquor store after polishing off a Swanson's Chicken Pot Pie (microwave version) and a one pound bag of Dove Dark Chocolate Promises, the wrappers of said candy scattered around their solitary room like red foil confetti while Dick Clark counts down in Times Square for the eighty-seventh consecutive year. Pitiful.
Not in a very good mood these days. Can you tell?
--Barbara
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