I have friends who shave their hair every spring and let it grow wildly and untamed until the following year, when they buzz-cut it in to military efficiency. A kind of self-imposed moulting. Any natty dreads or lice infestations are thrown out with the rubbish and they start each summer looking kempt and respectable. I take this a step further; I spend months gorging on wine and pizza in front of mindless American trash TV until my face is bloated, my skin green-grey and translucent and my mind is fizzing with nothingness. Then a pizza induced hallucinatory epiphany will strike me. As much as I would like to be visited by Jesus in the guise of Joey Greco from Cheaters to crawl, a la ‘The Ring’ from my TV, the epiphany usually takes the form of an overwhelming yawn of depression and worthlessness. Then the cleansing begins.
So, here I am at the (fat) arse end of a wine and TV bender that has lasted the best part of 2012 and I am putting my intentions in blog form. January can so easily feel like the ‘travelator’ from Gladiators, February finding us having slid right back down to the depths that triggered our good intentions. So while I sit here, sipping on a brownish green liquid breakfast, making these ritualistic promises to myself and wondering what I can do with the yolks that I am planning to omit from my omelettes, I am also reflecting on a year that was full of projects and successes that I enjoyed and am very proud of but seem somewhat peripheral. Shunted to the bottom of my list of resolutions will be the touchstone ‘less wine/less internet/read more/exercise more’ and in bold underlined italics at the header of the list will be the slightly evangelical slogan ‘Do... You!’
All the fragmentary loose-ends, a new Ordinary Boys record (assuming that there are enough ears that want to hear it), finishing my novel, even simply travelling and meeting new people, are all things I am committed to seeing to completion this year. It’s all too easy to start a new year with indistinct intentions of productivity but after spending a year being driven by money rather than continuing to follow my heart and after the fairly recent breakdown of a monumentally shitty relationship, I realise that my own selfish creative output it far more important to me than anything else. I apologise if this post seems dramatic and self-indulgent but I think that’s the point. Ironically, I am sat here in my running shoes and typing this to procrastinate going for a run. Baby steps. RIP 2012.