Originally posted 01.08.2005

Never one to set resolutions for the New Year, I nonetheless set goals every year: realistic, short-term goals that will help me realize longer-term ones. Basically, I’m pretty happy with the way I’ve managed those few things I have control over, but there’s always room for improvement, mainly in the area of consistency. So I decided I’d shoot for a certain number of hours, minimum days per week, for practice and meditation; a maintenance distance for running; better self care.

I succeeded in all of the above for one week, ending January 2 with an energetic 10-mile-run that took me around Prospect Park and Greenwood Cemetery and Park Slope in general, followed by three hours of practice. I didn’t go to the jam because I’d been feeling increasingly anti-social and crabby. I would soon figure out why.

The coughing started that night.

Followed by a high fever for two days, a throat so swollen I can’t hear right, congestion that shifts from lungs to sinuses to ears and back, now low fevers, dizziness, weakness—everything except nausea. God really does love me.

A fine start to the New Year, which, as Marj pointed out, is an arbitrary pick for new beginning. Might as well mark your new year with your birthday or the first day of spring or the first leaf to fall. We just love to start over, don’t we? How must the perfect suffer, when they have no lessons left to learn, no improvements to make? What do they do with themselves?

So I guess my new year will start when I can swallow without grimacing, when the humming in my ears stops, when I let go of Nyquil as my drug of choice, when my favorite beverage ceases to be gargled salt water.

Leave all the comments you want. Send me your poems, short stories, commiserations. I need the entertainment.