but the blues are still blue

my room is piled high with clothes, wine glasses in their boxes, a jesus tote bag that is on the verge of being offensive [i love it] and too many books to count. downstairs it smells faintly of murphy's wood oil soap and bergamot, and the dishes, despite my best efforts, have already piled up.

it's not late but i'm ready for bed. first, though, to see if once again i'm psychic [because really, if you go back and check last year's "resolutions" you'll see that i was more than spot on]:

this year, i promise to laugh and cry. and even in public. i promise to watch my words and to attempt clarity, even when the words aren't what i want to say. or what you want to hear. i promise i won't hurt anyone intentionally. i promise you that someone will live, someone will walk, someone will travel and someone will acquire a new living space. i promise that i will love openly, and secretly, and in passing, and also in complete sincerity. i promise you that i will continue to experiment with combining merlot and whiskey, even though i know that it only means danger. i promise less drama and more drama that you can handle. i will continue to try singing and dancing in public, even though i'm aware that neither action can be labelled as a personal strength. i promise a dramatic haircut. but mostly, just as before, i promise to try to be me, as much as i can.

welcome to the flip side.