I recently turned 33 this last Sunday, and if you hail from a christian background, you will note that I have now entered my Jesus year. Not that that means anything, but it does provide a conversation starter as well as a good epicentre for crucifixion jokes. In that spirit, I have decided to give myself 10 commandments in order to avoid the tedious process of crucifixion and resurrection. I mean really. Who needs it?
Commandment numero uno:
Refrain from telling people my dreams. Just a heads up people: if you can’t explain the dream in one sentence, don’t do it. Nobody cares about the nonsensical world of your subconscious. Although it might be very fascinating to you, it makes your audience want to RUN AWAY.
(confession- I don’t actually tell people my dreams unless it involves some obvious anxiety-like the time I dreamt my daughter and I were on an escalator and she got sucked under trying to get off. See? one sentence.)
Commandment numero dos:
Refrain from airing my body image issues to my husband. I can’t even stand myself anymore, it is so boring.
Commandment numero tres:
Refrain from body image issues. This might be a little harder, as it is akin to telling an alcoholic that the solution is to simply refain from drinking, but perhaps since I won’t be talking about it anymore it won’t exist (it is always good to start the year off with a healthy bout of denial)
Commandment numero cuatro:
Cease the senseless sacrifice of time to the god of television. This is a lot easier during this time of the year, when the only things to watch on the two television channels I get are the hockey play offs and dancing with the stars (I would rather do my taxes thank you very much).
Commandment numero cinco:
Write more. I feel like a productive human being when I write. I think I will cultivate that feeling…
Commandment numero seis (I have no idea if I am writing these numbers correctly-in fact, I have no idea why I am writing these in spanish at all):
Worry less about time. This is a big one folks as I am pathologically punctual in a city that is pathologically not. It is also hurting my relation with my children with whom I am in danger of being only the drill sergeant. I have a vision of me shedding off the time shackles and taking the time that it takes. I will arrive at my destination in a calm, tranquil non-flustered manner. Yeah. Right. I don’t even believe that one. This is the perfect example of how commandments are meant to be broken.
Commandment numero siete:
Refrain from bragging. It is not bragging really, but little comments slipped in as if I was fishing for some compliments. I am embarrassed for myself. Man the truth hurts, doesn’t it?
Commandment numero ocho:
I am running out of commandments…hmmm. I can’t think of anymore… Maybe it will be only the seven commandments for me this year. Who needs ten? Ahh there we go- stop thinking in terms of nice round numbers. The odd ones are good too. So they do not pair up so beautifully. Will the world stop turning if there is a group of three? I think not.