Gentle Reader,
Linking up with the lovely people over at Kate’s place. To begin the year, we write about: first.
Go.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
Cliche, I know. True nonetheless.
I’ve spent the first week of this new year coughing, sniffling and hanging out with the nebulizer. Inhaled steroids taste so good. The shaking hands afterward? Total bonus. The raspy, congested, dulcet tones of my voice? Eat your heart out, Lauren Bacall.
And then there’s the fact that this is taking place in January, the month I loathe above all others.
I don’t know exactly when I began to hate the first month of the year. Certainly by my late teens. Post-holiday malaise maybe. Perhaps a touch of the winter blues. January is cold and drab. Nothing happens. The beautiful white snow freezes and melts and gets stomped on until it morphs into grey slush. All I want to do is glare at the world.
Mighty hard to not give in to the temptation.
I kick myself, only eight days into this new year, for choosing the word “attitude.” Don’t normally do the one word thing. Tried it in the past and promptly forgot whatever it was I had chosen. This, I can’t forget. This, I can’t ignore. This, one of those moments when the Holy Spirit stands before me, arms crossed, refusing to budge.
I need an attitude adjustment.
Pessimism is easy. I’m sick and the world sucks and just leave me alone.
Choosing something else, choosing to see what’s good and light and happy in each day…not so easy.
It’s the first choice I have to make, the second my eyes pop open.
When they’re not crusted over by goop, that is.
Stop.
