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jenefer shute
  jenefer shute

Irresolution

Every year at New Year -- usually shoeless, joyless, and dateless amidst the wrack of some revelry -- I conduct the same dialogue with myself. And as is usually the case, I end up convincing myself of my point of view. Both of them, I mean, since it is after all a dialogue, a conversation across my own corpus callosum. Hence, then, my annual resolution, my bipartite yet binding contract with myself:

 
 
Resolved, that this year I will allow myself, once again, to fall in love, to yield again to the giddiness and the sweetness, the thrill of being translated, out of control.

   
  Resolved, that this year I will not allow myself, not again, to fall in love, not yield again to the craziness and the ache, the terror of being translated, out of control.

 
Resolved, that this year I will, yes I will, show some faith in the universe and place some of my well-being in another person's large, tender, knobbly hands.

   
  Resolved, that this year I will not, not again, lapse into superstition -- like Skinner's pigeons on a schedule of random reward-and place my well-being in another person's large, knobbly, neglectful hands.

 
Resolved, that this year I will not, on the first date, announce some wholly fictitious plan to repair to the Aleutian Islands, effective next week (or the week after, depending on the date).

   
  Resolved, that this year I will not, on the first date, mentally clear my calendar for the next six months, mentally cancel all trips out of town, mentally -- if necessary -- quit my job and break my lease.

 
Resolved, that this year I won't clock the time spent shaving my legs and washing the sheets, or the Sunday mornings spent staring blearily over a pile of pancakes at a stubbly, barely recognizable, but still delightful face.

   
  Resolved, that this year I'll curtail the time spent shaving my legs and washing the sheets, not to mention the ritual Sunday mornings spent staring bleary-eyed at a stranger's stubbly face, surrounded by other couples similarly bleary, stubbly, and stunned.

 
Resolved, that this year I'll ignore the cat's jealous vomiting next to the nuptial bed: Clearly, that cat has been spoiled psychotic.

   
  Resolved, that this year, I'll pay due attention to the cat's jealous and admonitory vomiting next to the nuptial bed: Clearly, that cat's instincts are better than mine.

 
Resolved, that this year I won't panic if someone should inscribe himself, in ink, on my erasable calendar thereby conjuring a future that's continuous with the present, a future that might be more than a procession of blanks awaiting a progression of names.

   
  Resolved, that this year I'll apply the antidote: nail-polish remover, so I'm told.

 
Resolved, that this year I'll practice humility, forbearance, and hope.

   
  Resolved, that this year I'll figure out, finally, where forbearance ends and subjection begins.

 
Resolved, that this year I won't be afraid.

   
  Resolved, that this year I won't be afraid.

 
Resolved, that this year I'll give the following idea its due: "To know and love one other human being is the root of all wisdom." Evelyn Waugh wrote that.

   
  Resolved, that this year I'll give the following idea its due: "To know and love one other human being is the root of all wisdom." Evelyn Waugh wrote that.


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Copyright © 1997 Jenefer Shute.