Super Mega Wet January

Entering the new year de-influenced and doing whatever the hell I want

I’ve decided not to observe time this year. Not in the astrophysical sense. Time is pretty neat. But I’m not allowing a calendar to dictate how I behave. I refuse.

New year, new you! No sugar, no coffee, no dopamine, no wine, no you. Behave.

I’m not buying it.

You know, it’s fascinating how we all know exactly what we shouldn’t do and still feel drawn to it. We shouldn’t doom scroll. Shouldn’t eat past 8pm. We definitely shouldn’t drink a bottle of wine a day. But we’re drawn to these maniacal acts of self-sabotage like fingers to a bruise. We’re little weirdos sampling tasting menus of destruction.

It is January 9th. So far this year I have gotten my nails done, had micro needling, undergone full body laser, and consumed roughly seventeen bottles of wine. It has been a fucking blast. The opposite of Dry January. Super Mega Wet January.

It’s almost scary how well I could be the epitome of health. If I chose to be. For breakfast this morning I prepared a clean and pristine Japanese moment: bone broth with fermented miso paste, Swiss chard, carrots, and salmon. A balance of omega 3s, collagen, vitamins A, K, and C, and protein. A glowing, disciplined goddess greeting the day.

Then for my 1pm snack, I opened a bottle of Tempranillo.

I know exactly how to take care of myself. I also know how to ignore that knowledge with exquisite precision, or, better yet, fine tune it to today’s definition of self-care. Today’s definition: if you’re happy as a fucking clam, go for it, sister.

So, I am.

Okay look. Before you clutch your pearls: don’t fret! I’m not numbing. Truly. I’m rebelling against the man, man. Temporarily. It’s an experiment in refusing to be influenced. It’s My Year of Rest and Relaxation with 99% fewer drugs and zero depression.

Time will come for me again. It always does. Just not in January. I’ve blocked off my calendar to be a 32-year-old woman on a mission to enjoy serenity at home.

My January resolutions, decided just now:

• Read

• Write

• Drink wine

• Have cheesecake at night

• Stay in jammies all day

• Open the windows every day

• Learn something new every day

If you need me, I’ll be living in a fermented blur of broth and wine, collagen and bath time.

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BOOK REVIEW:

(Not a recommendation, but a review. For context.)

My Year of Rest and Relaxation is a book often compared to The Bell Jar. Both follow a woman retreating from the world. But where The Bell Jar is about being trapped by depression, Rest and Relaxation is about choosing withdrawal as an act of control. They’re both dark. And because I hate spoilers and never read the back of a book before sticking my eyeballs to the pages, I didn’t realize I was drifting in a tiny boat of despair until after I was already committed. Yes, to both. Neither are really my cup of tea, but oddly, My Year of Rest and Relaxation has been used as a random point of reference several times since reading it a few years back.