New Year’s resolution

New Year New Life so the saying goes in Spanish. I like the idea of having a new life as quite frequently I feel like I’m trapped in some really bad Almodovar movie where everyone is over acting and there seems very little point to anything at all. Mostly I think that if my life were a movie it would be one that would be described by critics as missing some important things that would warrant engaged viewing. Things like a plot. For example.

The problem has always been that while I like the idea of a new life and am very good at making resolutions I lack any kind of resolve, which means the follow through is always lacking. One New Year, I made a resolution to go to Argentina and marry a gaucho with an enormous… now don’t be silly… or rude…. Estancia. Yes. Farms there are about the size of small African nations. Cattle rustling is so endemic because it takes 6 weeks to ‘ride the fences’ to find out what’s missing by which time your livestock is someone else’s barbeque. The resolution was made in all seriousness -ok, well it might have involved a few drinks with some gay bloke friends and a religious portrait adorned with votive condoms, they’d given me which I later regretted taking through customs. The plan was that I would spend my days riding aimlessly round on horses, drinking mate and not doing much of anything except watching the polo (pronounced poulou) and buggering about. Which I thought I’d be quite good at. While the intention was quasi-serious I lacked the resolve that many women have when they are hunting down their marital quarry. I am easily distracted. And have a very low tolerance threshold to boredom. The only real chance I had of actually seeing out this ridiculous fantasy was the estancia owning mining magnate I went out with on a single date. He spent an hour and a half talking about business and then talking into his phone – I exited through the restaurant kitchen and for all I know he sits there still. I’m sure he wouldn’t have noticed that I was gone and my Spanish was too bad to stretch to convincing lies so a doing a runner seemed the appropriate thing to do. I had failed to pay attention to the details. Like; if you really want an estancia you might have to put up with living with a plonker. It hadn’t occurred to me there should be any sacrifices inherent in the resolution.

Life coaches and other people who can’t find a real job would say you have to be very specific. You have to float your intention out into the universe and the universe will magically deliver. Except in my case. When I ask the universe for peace and happiness I get a stray cat and an insane Polish neighbour.

It seems that the universe might be like one of those creative writing classes where they give you 3 completely nonsensical elements and you have to compose a narrative from them. Peaceful, happy or otherwise.

Self-knowledge has led me to have much lower expectations and so this New Year’s resolution is going to be much easier: I will always use the old Orewa road to get to our largest city from the North. I will admire its beauty and it’s distinct lack of ridiculously long queues of irate people waiting in front of toll booth machines that don’t work or are not written in the language of the person randomly punching at buttons in front of you. I will note that taking the slow way has saved me precisely an hour, which I wasted trying to pay $2 for the privilege of saving 10 minutes in a spiffy tunnel.

I will resolve not to vote for any more politicians who suggest that flash roads are the answer to the economic woes of the North.

Seriously – the one thing we’re not short of up here is time. What were we really going to do with that 10 minutes anyway?

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