Monthly Archives: December, 2011

Retrospective: The Ghost of New Year’s Resolutions Past.

I)

Cheers, we say –

to the New Year, and

let’s hope it will be better

than the last one,

we say:

 

No more

burning bridges

crying tears (all in vain, always)

gritting our eyes

with ashes –

ashes everywhere.

 

No more, we say

as the old year miserably

drowns at the bottom of

our wine glasses –

we don’t even try to save it.

 

We shoot the New Year

into the stars and say

that’s where we want to be:

Walking through the ashes

collecting our tears in a box

hiding it in a secret corner of the closet

(a secret corner of the heart).

 

Let’s build new bridges, we say.

 

II)

But old acquaintances, they forget and

new year’s resolutions hit

the ground just one minute

after midnight, along with

the last of

the fireworks.

 

Cheers, I say –

to an old acquaintance

that forgot, and I

wonder why (after all)

 

you

 

collected the ashes in a box

legs knee-deep in tears

 

why you

 

walked right back onto

your last burning bridge

 

why

 

III)

Cheers, I say

drinking the old year

from my glass of $3 wine.

 

Cheers, I say

looking for you

among the stars.

A Confession…

I have a confession to make.

I am a terrible materialist. There, I said it. I really can’t help it.

This realization didn’t actually strike me when all the glossy ads for toys, perfumes, jewelry and other fancy whatnots started popping up all over the place. Honestly, they don’t appeal to me at all – besides: I can never tell just what product is advertised by several semi-naked people giving me a possibly sexy/mysterious/earnest look. (You tell me. Please?) It wasn’t the beginning of the holiday season that got me. It was the beginning of a season, though – winter.

Here’s what happened: I’ve been digging up favorite scarves and sweaters from the depths of my closet (since it’s winter officially – whatever objections the actual weather might have to the meteorology here). Rummaging through all the wool and the occasional tassel, I found myself having sentimental feelings for the one or other… piece of clothing.

Okay. Possibly, it started even earlier than this: My favorite pair of jeans has been showing (severe) signs of weakness around the knees – which in turn has triggered me displaying severe signs of distress all in all. I hate parting with my favorite pair of jeans because first, I hate jeans shopping. I never find a pair that fits when I’m really in need of one – because semi-naked is never an option for me (I never advertise for anything anyway). Second, I grow sisterhood-of-the-traveling-pants-attached to my jeans. That is SUPER-attached. I wear them until they – quite literally – fall apart. Which is always somewhat awkward when the falling apart happens in public, but oh well: we all get our 15 minutes of fame, right Andy?

But back to the wool and tassels: I don’t have sentimental feelings for each piece of clothing I own. I don’t name them (yet). It’s that some pieces remind me of a person. Or of the place I got them at. Or the time when I bought them. (They’re little time-machines.) It’s that wearing that one sweater, that one scarf or my favorite jeans is like flipping through the pages of a diary. Which, for me, is awfully convenient because I’m terribly inconsistent when it comes to actually writing a diary. (This blog is probably the closest I have ever gotten and will ever get to it.)

So strictly speaking, I’m a memorabiliaist. Or possibly a mnemonicist. There, I said it. I still  can’t help it.

PS: 

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I'm Michelle. This is my blog. I write about women and fatness, expound upon semi-coherent thoughts I have in the middle of the night, and offer tough love to those in whom I am disappointed; they are legion.