Reverse Resolutions: I’ve GOT to quit doing this!

 

 

One of my projects to complete in 2016

                One New Year’s resolution: STOP going off into the office after putting a pan of eggs to boil—on high heat—then forgetting about them till I hear pops and cracks. Boiled dry, they did, and when I doused the pan/ eggs with cold water, I thought they might explode. But they only sizzled, grumpily and impatiently. Well, it sounded so to me. This is the second time lately that I’ve done this. From now on, I’m staying close enough to hear the water boiling over and sizzling.

                I’ve got to STOP doing this: Thinking that a recipe calling for a pan lined with parchment paper or non-stick foil—which I didn’t have—that waxed paper surely would substitute. Wrong! Or else I used the wrong side of it. Gooey, gooey. My solution? Freeze the concoction and maybe the paper would peel off. YES! In the meantime, I saw—and purchased—some non-stick foil. Didn’t know such a thing existed. Do you reckon I need to get out in the world more?

                I will NEVER AGAIN try to stuff two books into a flat-rate postal envelope, even if the flap overlaps a little and there’s $5.75 worth of stamps affixed. Even if it is supposed to go Priority Mail. Somewhere—either Memphis, Little Rock or Benton—in the dead letter, or litter bin are copies of A Journey of Choice (softback) and Her Face in the Glass. They were intended for a writer friend in Rector. When she checked the post office where she’d forgotten she had a box, only the opened envelope with un-cancelled stamps greeted her. I hope someone rescues the books from the bin and reads them. OR gives them to a library. Or to a homeless person. Chalk that up in the “loss” column. And an expensive lesson.

                I must DESIST in toting the oversized recycling box to the appropriate bin—in the dark. One such task, with oak leaves littering the pathway that I thought I knew, resulted in a knee-fall into a flower-bed border lined with white rocks (See these three punctures? Right here.) Another time, at a different door, the box snagged on something, but this time, I dumped it instead of falling headlong into a concrete porchlet. Of course, I had to pick up the papers that fell, but that wasn’t such a hard task, thinking about what could have happened.

                I must CEASE procrastinating on getting things done—either writing, yard work, fixing up the inside of this older-than-I-am house, reading, writing . . . oh, I repeat myself. Each room has so many things to: find a place for, go through and (perhaps) toss to the recycling box or the Goodwill sack.

                Can I possibly END or at least lessen my penchant for buying more books until I read all the ones I’ve already purchased?

                In my own defense, and for my own peace of mind, let me HALT this list before I think of other items to add.

Happy New Year.