I can do it. I can make a goal and attempt to stick to it.
I can make goals, it’s just that I promptly break them. Or fcuk them up somehow. Just one cigarette after work. I just did 45 minutes on the elliptical so I can eat chips, guac, and side of burrito.
Though I understand the concept of having goals, I’m not sure I’ve achieved one. (Well, I mean I guess I have achieved some of the social norm goals: I have a master’s degree, I have a job, I have a rented roof over my head, etc.), I just haven’t felt that strong passion where you can push yourself to nth degree just for the sweet taste of victory. Maybe I’m a defeatist. Maybe I’m not ready to quit smoking or lose weight or date. I always fulfill these things in my own time anyway as I have been successful at all three in the past (though not usually all at the same time).
But tonight I want to write about this goal: writing. Though a career as a writer would be awesome, that’s not the–dare I say it–goal–write right now. I just want to write. I have all these thoughts swirling in my head all the time. I have thoughts about current events, pop culture, myself, family, work, books, and I miss writing them down. Playing with words. Attempting different styles and exercises.
So on this eve, eve, of the New Year, I vow I’m going to try to write more. For now the aim is to blog three days a week. Cross your fingers for me ghost reader.