"Some Things Will Be A Little Different."

This afternoon I took a break from getting ready for a couple of New Years things to journal. I wrote cleanly at the top of the page "Things To Note In The New Year", and after about 15 minutes of staring blankly at the page, I scrawled "Some things will be a little different" and tossed the pen somewhere under the sofa. It rolled past 4 bras, 3 pairs of nylons, a pair of thigh highs still in the package, and 2 girdles to get there-- but it did. And I resumed preparing for New Years festivities.

Some things will be a little different.

-I will no longer denounce dating, romance, involvement between the sexes. I have a boyfriend (which I assure you looks every bit as bizarre to you as it does to me), one that I adore and wake up staring at in some or other utterly repulsively google-eyed fashion. I kiss him at red lights and resist the urge to make a picture of the two of us my desktop. I met a man, I am hopelessly smitten, and I love it.

-I will lie to my daughter. No about why Daddy lives in a different state. Not about the fat man poking around in the living room. Not even about why I'm sad on any given day. No, the above statement implies that I have to lie to my daughter about something very different this year-- not about what ails me, but about what makes me happy. She has told me in no uncertain terms that she does not want me to have a boyfriend because she does not want me to break up with a boyfriend. She has seen that, twice, and does not care to see it again. Which is fair enough, and I can understand the sentiment entirely (as is evident from the past 3 years of halfhearted and self-sabotaged dating)... but it is what it is-- this happens to make me happy, and inevitable sadness be damned, I'm walking through. Which would totally piss my daughter off-- if I were going to tell her. Which I'm not.

Which would also totally piss her off. If she knew.

But she won't, because this year is the year that I become a deceptive untrustworthy mother.

-The heels? Gone. Some sprains just never do get better. This is one of those sprains.

Yeah, fine. Maybe it was the never icing it because I don't like to feel cold, maybe it was the refusal not to wear heels until 2 weeks later when the swelling had still nowhere near subsided. Maybe it was the decision to still walk a male every other day, go dancing, go to a party in platformed boots, take up dart tossing despite it consisting entirely of standing with wight on one of either foot for at least an hour if I'm doing it right.

Maybe.

Regardless, there are no more heels for this girl in the new year, and that is sad.

There is more, I know there is. And I could get into it right now... but I won't. Because in he time it takes to save a draft, go to new years eve, spend the night with my boyfriend (yes, still bizarre to type, and et utterly delightful in it's way), fumble on he keys of an unfamiliar laptop, it has become the very different New Year I have been thinking about, the things that will be a little different are in fact just that, and there is a fabulously terrible horror movie on that isn't going to watch itself.