New Year.

So many times, I find myself wishing there were a reset button for life. I suppose New Year's Eve is as close as I'll ever get.

This year, I did many things. I clawed my way out of an unfortunate and miserable relationship that far outlived its passion. I graduated law school. I took the bar exam. I passed the bar exam. I got a job as an attorney. I got my own place. I started dating normal people. I'm refreshed by how simple life can be when you make the changes that you know you have to make. I'm also encouraged to think that anything is possible if you work hard enough for it.

So, I embark on the journey that I've always needed. Here's to you, 2011. Let's make it worthwhile.

Carol of the Bells.

Every year, it's progressively more terrible. You get a little more like grandma. I get a little less like you. We don't talk about anything of substance, and I count down the hours until it's socially acceptable to leave.

Guilt, from the minute I walk in the door through the phone call when I return home. Then you ask why I don't visit more.

Awful. One more week until this season of obligations, both financial and emotional, is over for another eleven months. It can't come soon enough.

In good humor?

"You're really funny. Most women aren't, but you are."

Maybe this is the cheesiest line anyone has ever said to me, but it struck a deeper chord for me than "you're beautiful" or "you have a nice body."

Dating is so awful. You play that game-- does he like me? Do I like him? What if he likes me more? What if he doesn't? What if this isn't really the right time for a relationship for one of us? Is this a rebound? Is it serious? Do I want it to be serious? He's attractive, but do I really want to spend my evenings and weekends with him? What if he doesn't like me? What if he has another girlfriend? What if his family hates me? What if he's bad in bed?

The list goes on. So, when someone says something about a genuine, unchanging part of my personality, it gets to me more than the superficial points. My body and face will change with time, but my humor won't. Maybe it was just a line, but it was the best one anyone has used on me in a long time.

It was freedom that I wanted, freedom that I got.

Everything has been left behind. I am a new person. Happier, more interesting, with better perspective on what I want and what matters in life.

Today, I have been in my own apartment with no serious visitors for almost 2 weeks. It's a lot of work. I do everything. The cooking, the cleaning, the bill paying, the laundry, taking care of the cat. I go to work every day, faithfully. My apartment is kind of sad--I can hear my neighbor's TV blasting through the floor at almost all hours; the maintenance man shakes items off my walls when he clears the ice from the path. But the freedom to go to the gym, to see friends, to visit my family, to have my family over when I want--it makes the misery of cleaning my car off every day and having a few cracks in the walls worthwhile.

At last, I am the person I have wanted to be since I was 16 years old. This may have been the "year of the tiger," but next year will be mine, no matter what sign it's formally associated with.

Do-over.

When my fiance and I split in 2007, my best friend told me that the relationship didn't really count. I was too young to be engaged, and our relationship was of the intense love/hate variety. So, she granted me a do-over.

This last one. I don't even know what to say about it. After just over three long years, it is finally, totally over. It was an obvious rebound that got much too serious much too quickly. Then, out of fear of hurting one another--and possibly fear that other options would be worse--we both stayed in an unhappy relationship for far too long.

I move in about a week. I feel nothing negative. No regret. No sadness. No shame about what I'm doing. For the first time in three years, I'm happy and looking forward to the next adventure.

Oh, my.

It's so annoying that you think you're some kind of god. You push around the "underlings" like they don't matter. You commit all varieties of malpractice every day. You are angry because life didn't turn out your way. Listen, sister, the dream didn't work out for me, but you don't see me running around acting like I own this place. Don't take it out on me ad don't take it out on the helpless new people, either.

...and I could solve some mysteries, too.

Do what you love?

That's funny. There are so many things that I love. If I had done what I loved, I would be some variety of journalist or writer right now. Maybe then it would be fashionable to live a bleak, impoverished existence of misery and isolation. I would have a way to channel all this energy and anger into something productive.

Of course, the backup careers are extensive. Translator; makeup artist; photographer; veterinary technician; fashion designer; chef. But these aren't the types of careers that get supported in my family. They never really felt like options. So now, while I stare at my staggering student debt and inability to escape the life that I resent, I wonder what I was thinking. I did something I hate and I'm terrible at it.

I'm playing it safe right now, of course. The rational part of me knows that I have options. The practical part of me says that to explore those options right now would be futile or foolish. But still, I feel the need for something else. I have this sense that it's just a matter of time before I go chasing after something completely ridiculous and love every minute of it.

the. end.

I hate to admit it, but the days are shorter. The air is crisper. Tomorrow will be the last cookout of the year for most people. Don't get me wrong; I'm all for the sales at the mall this weekend, and the excitement over Halloween and plans for the holidays. But to embrace this time means to embrace the inevitable. The cold, the snow, the dead plants and trees, the dangerous driving conditions, the constant illness. That's just the beginning, though. Then there are the holidays and my birthday. Maybe if my birthday were at some other time of the year, it would be enjoyable. But no one except close family ever has time to come celebrate with me; I'm just an afterthought that's easily brushed aside in the wake of Christmas and Hanukkah.

Shivering when I climb into my car at the beginning or end of the day. Brushing snow off my windshield and roof. Jeans. Sweaters. Undershirts. Socks under socks. Snow boots. Heavy wool layers. Scarves and hats. Gloves and mittens. All those layers, just wrapping me in my misery and dread. No, I won't enjoy this holiday, which means the end of pleasant weather and freedom. Every year around this time, a little part of me dies. I don't expect it to come back to life until I live somewhere much warmer and further away.

sticky.

Sometimes, I feel like I spend most of my life with a cold. I'm either just getting one, or I already have one, or I'm just getting over one, or I'm living in fear of getting another one.

I was really looking forward to this weekend. I was going to enjoy my time off work. I was going to see family and de-stress. Instead, I'm swaddled in a blanket cursing my itchy throat, watery eyes and faucet-like nose. I can't go to the gym. I can't clean. I can't do anything. This time tomorrow, I know the cough will set in. For now, the most exciting thing I can do is attach my press-on nails and appreciate that my entire situation is kind of sticky.

nesting.

The day when you find mice living in your cupcake pans and barely care anymore, you know you're close to hitting rock bottom. What's worse is tugging that pan out from under your stove, tossing the mouse in the air and causing it, completely accidentally, to fall to a painful, squishy death.

I feel a lot like that mouse. Except I haven't fallen yet. I'm still somersaulting through the air, facing my certain peril in terror and confusion. I don't know who displaced me and sent me flying. I only know that I can't do a thing about it.