New Year's Eve

Champaign was spraying from every angle that I tried to turn to.  Even though I could feel the excitement of yet another year making its entrance into my life, I did not quite enjoy the stickiness it left on my skin.  It was unusually cold for 31 Dec or was it 1 Jan already?  My clothes and hair  drenched in bubbly and I eyed out the quickest route to the ladies trying to escape all the drunken strangers kisses wanting to wish me a Happy New Year.  Next I would have to endure Abba still celebrating 1989’s New Year.  Inevitably this is one song that will play at all New Year’s parties. 

I walked out the ladies room trying to focus my whiskey soaked brain on my new year’s resolution.  Unlike other years I have made an agreement with myself that this year will only have one.  In the past my lists became to long.  This resulted that by February I became despondent.  This year will be different.  The one and only resolution will be: to strive towards perfection. 

So I started merrily on the 1^st of January to do just that.  The perfect diet to get the perfect body, the perfect creams to get the perfect face.  The perfect house that will be accompanied by the perfect furniture, that my perfect husband will enjoy while watching his favourite TV programmes surrounded by perfect kids sitting on perfect Italian tiles.  Nice!  Me running off to the perfect job, that allows 100 days leave a year and triple my current salary.  Hundreds of women out there are doing it.  I will become one of them.

By the 10^th of January I was exhausted while trying to keep awake during a meditation session.  Damn!  How do these woman do it?  They manage to have a career, children, husbands, body corporate meetings of their investment properties, organizing golf days for the school’s annual fund raising event, leaders in the church.   Hell no I thought out loud, disturbing the others next to me in meditation, this perfection business is going to take a lot of time and effort that could be spent enjoying life instead.  The one aspect that slipped my mind: are these women happy? 

As I curled up with Leo Tolstoy, replacing the perfect husband, and a cup of Milo, replacing the vintage wine, Jesse, my dog, stared at me.  Through his eyes I have always been perfect, and maybe, just maybe that is enough perfection for now.