This is going to be step one to make my life a little bit more do-able. For me. Not really for anyone else (although I do have plenty of little lovebugs for whom I care deeply about) but my emotional stability has not really been up to par lately, and for that my dear friends and family – I am sorry.  Wait, who am I kidding?  For ME I am sorry.  Dear self, please forgive me.  I know I have abused you greatly in the past year.  Not only with arguably excessive amounts of alcohol and little sleep, but with emotions gone wild.  These emotions have been far more intense than a kick ass hangover, and I’m on the mission to stop the question if I am actually bipolar.  One can only break down into hysterics so many times a day.  I’m starting off this positive-life kick in lieu of never having to commute into Manhattan EVER again on a regular basis, and I can’t fully express the joy in that statement.  It doesn’t even seem real yet.  One day though, it will hit me square in the face and I will realize that I can now be the happiest little girl on the planet Earth.
I’m getting older, and that means adult responsibilities (and night cream, because no one wants wrinkles. I heard you should start Botox in your 20s…) But anyway, people do great things every day and I sit around and organize my closet more times than human should. I think what I’m unintentionally making my way toward is a bucket list.  Is that melodramatic?  I immediately call to mind an uncomfortably older Jack Nicholson, and I obviously prefer to have thoughts about that man in his hay day – which of course would be a studly 40-something in The Shining.  Oh lord, please help me.  Anyway, here we go…
Do yoga at least 5 times a week. I used to be so active.  What happened? Oh wait, I know, life happened.  I got older, I got (a lot) lazier, and my body is saying ‘fuck you, you don’t deserve to look this good anymore’ and is finally giving me the boot. My temple (Skinny Bitch, anyone?) is kicking me out, and I’m not ready to leave.
Read more books.  Even if it’s Chelsea Handler – don’t judge me.
Drink my coffee black.  Why, you ask? I have no explanation for you, besides the fact that my boyfriend thinks it’s one of the most offensive things ever to drink coffee with milk and sugar.  Reason enough for me.
Spend more time with friends. It’s 8:15 am and I just got a message from my b-to the eff-eff saying “Soljah Boy just came on my iPod shuffle (RIP Steve Jobs.  Apple was not one of my favorite part-time jobs in college but hey, I really like my iPhone, iPod, and MacBook!) it reminded me of Florida”. Keep in mind we are nearly twenty six years old.  We don’t listen to Soljah Boy, never really did, and Florida was a vacation that happened about four years ago.  We also have occasional text messages where we only speak in Emoji icons, and that has me hysterical for hours.  It’s the little things…
Stop being a bitch.  Do I need to elaborate? I don’t think so.  I think I should publicly apologize to everyone I come into contact with on a daily basis.  I'm a brat and I’m sorry.  And you better believe, I’m that little bratty kid that would rather sit in the corner and pout than sucker up to the fact that what he/she did was wrong.  Two words.  Is it that difficult?  For me, yes.  But, hello! I’m trying.  I put it on my new to-do list, so that means it has to happen.
This is getting far too long to be an enjoyable read.  Last goal – Stop being so extensive and unrestrained with this blog.  Quit while you’re ahead.  Word count – 659.