Monday, 12 January 2015

Intentions for 2015

Jennifer Crusie is right. New Year's Resolutions just put pressure on you to actually have will power, energy, and the ability to complete tasks.

Who actually has that?

Intentions are so much better.

I intend to write more. 
Check. It only took ten days to complete this post. Actually, at the time of writing this very sentence, I cannot guarantee that I will actually complete this post.

I intend to have more sex with my husband.
Or with myself. Or with my BOB. Either way. Orgasms every day, please.

I intend to keep my house tidier.
I have a 2 and 4 year old boy! I hope you didn't fall for that one!

I intend to enjoy every moment with my children and my husband.
Even when they're being whiny, throwing temper tantrums, and running their syrup-covered hands down the hall walls on the way to the bathroom.
My husband is in no way included in the sentence directly above this one.

I will lose some weight. And/or get into better shape.
I'd be happy with five pounds for the year, at this point, because let's face it: I gained weight in 2014.

I intend to paint the inside of my house this year.
Which leads me to:

I intend to get my house organized and de-cluttered.
Please see the third intention, above.

I intend to go camping with my family more.
And, not the kind of camping where you drag a house behind your truck, park it next to a million other trailers beside a major highway. The kind of camping where there's one other family camping on the other side of the lake, and you may hear a logging truck go by once in awhile. Oh, and you're sleeping in a tent, and if you're lucky, the floor to the outhouse won't be completely rotten, just a little rotten.

I intend to not let my mom's micro-management bother me.
Starting now.
Or maybe tomorrow.

I intend to laugh more, especially with my children and my husband.
This seems more reasonable than the fourth intention, above.

I intend to not let my whiny little bitch out. 
I'd like to add ever on to the end of that, but I may have to give her one PMS day per month. But only one. Because, a week or two is probably driving everyone around me a little bit crazy. I know it's driving me crazy. And then I just feel guilty, so I cry more, etc. etc. Bitch.
Okay, she gets one day per month for the first six months (starting in February. Ahem.), then that's it. The skank is getting cut out of the family.

I think that these are all doable. And, I should be able to stay sane during the process.

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