That's for everyone out there who's already broken their New Year's resolutions, because no matter how quickly you fell, you at least outlasted me. Even if you cracked at 12:01 a.m. Jan. 1, you lasted longer than I did. That's right, I broke a resolution at the very stroke of midnight.
You have to admire the optimistic spirit that convinces us each year that the turn of a calendar page will bestow upon us the willpower to transform ourselves into finer versions of who we already are. "This year I'm going to..." Insert resolutions here: quit smoking; lose weight; use the Stairmaster for exercising instead of as a clothes rack; learn a new language; refrain from using four-letter words.
"Stop swearing" is a perennial favorite on my list of vices to eliminate. I began trying to clean up my mouth when I was pregnant with my oldest child, which means I've failed at it every year since 1986 - and it's not looking good for 2012, either.
I spent a pleasant New Year's Eve evening with a group of friends. The plan was to have dinner, then settle in for board games and general hilarity for as long as the middle-aged bunch of us could keep our eyes open. That turned out to be 8:30 p.m., with me being the loudest yawner of them all.
By 10 p.m. I was home, in my pajamas and under a blanket on my sofa, sandwiched between two snoring dogs. Showtime was showing "The Hours," a movie I'd been wanting to see. What a perfectly peaceful way to usher in the new year.
Have you seen "The Hours"? It's based on a novel about real-life author Virginia Woolf and two fictional women who share a connection with Woolf's novel "Mrs. Dalloway." I assumed I'd enjoy it, but as a movie it made a wonderful sedative. Less than halfway through I'd figured out what the plot twist at the end would be, and the pacing was so slow (and I was so tired already) that I kept dozing off.
I woke up in time to see the credits roll, which happened to be at midnight. I grabbed the remote to change channels and catch the Times Square ball drop, but I clicked the wrong button, wound up with a blank screen, and let loose a "@#%$!", blowing my resolution before the new year was one minute old.
Oh, well. Swearing is hardly the worst vice there is. It's not as bad as, say, being a serial killer, or a Kardashian. I have a long mental list of self-improvement resolutions to work from, and a whole year to chip away at them. This is a marathon, after all, not a sprint. I may have stumbled at the starting line, but I plan to finish strong. By Dec. 31, 2012, I'll be a more refined, new and improved me: Deb 2.0. All the standard features you love without all those annoying vices.
Only I'll probably still swear. After all, I have to save something to work on in 2013.
EDITOR'S NOTE: Deb Pascoe is a Marquette resident, mother of three and full-time editorial assistant in The Mining Journal newsroom. Her bi-weekly columns focus on her observations on life and family. She can be reached by phone at 228-2500, ext. 240, or by email to email@example.com. "Life With a View," a collection of her Mining Journal columns, is available at area bookstores. Read her blog online at www.singlesobermom.blogspot.com.