New Year

New Year, Old Me – Things I Could Feel Bad About, but Don’t and I’m Not Sorry

by Katherine Shaw
Katherine Shaw

Historically, the New Year has been a time for contemplation, goal setting, and ample self-loathing. The New Year also pressures individuals to meet face to face, often in a public space, with an unspoken expectation (or in my case, specific instructions) to change out of pajamas and wear “normal” clothing. And you may not even like these anti-pajama people – keep pouring that champagne!

Life is short, especially in my family due to pesky genetic dispositions. Over the years I’ve politely said no thank you to New Year’s resolutions, and I don’t feel bad about it. Here’s some other things I’m resolute in not feeling bad about:

#1 I’d Be Fired from a Sugar Baby Gig

Last year I considered the perks of joining the Sugar Daddy community. My “hard nos” (that’s sexy lingo for boundary setting) would be that Sugar Daddy would never touch me and he’d leave me alone 23 hours of the day. I’d also appreciate an annual salary of $400,000. I heard that’s the income of the President of the United States, and considering Putin is willing to pay Trump that much for Sugar Baby duties, my price simply reflects market value.  

This all seemed feasible until I realized compartmentalization is not my strong suite. I know exactly how this would turn out: I meet Sugar Daddy, I am blown away by him not being a rapist, so blown away that I forget to collect my income. Then I’d develop feelings for him. Then I’d spend money buying him gifts. So maybe $400,037.99 is my new required salary. Eventually, he’d break things off; I’d be unemployed, heartbroken, and would have to compete with Trump to win Putin’s affection. 

#2 I’m Still Fat

I wish there was a magazine cover that celebrated a fat woman who remained fat. Instead, the grocery store check-out taunts me with repetitive images of once slightly fat women who digested the message that society hates their bodies. Thing is, I heard the message that society hates my body long ago; I just don’t care to listen anymore.

2016 marked my Fattest Year and though I’ve shed 50 lbs. over the last two years, my weight loss wasn’t accomplished via strict dieting and self-loathing. I know, how boring of me! Instead, I learned to give myself compassion and made small, gradual lifestyle changes – the kryptonite for our diet-crazed society. What’s been most helpful is developing a special form of body dysmorphia. Regardless if I’m thinner one month or heavier the next, I’m generally comfortable in my body. How could I not be? This place is plush as hell!

#3 The Creeping Realization that I’m Losing my Mind Before 30

There are pieces of common knowledge that are lost on me. At least once a week I find myself confronted with wonder at something very elementary. Partly because of childhood trauma blocking my neuropathways and partly due to my bottom of the barrel public schooling. Phrases such as “scantily clad” turn into “scandalously plaid” and my mind is overcome with images of Scottish men in a flirtatious Marilyn Monroe pose. No skirt is too short for these boys! There’s also that time I completely forgot what a tomato was for five minutes, and I really wish drugs were involved.

Approaching my third decade was once a mile marker for having my metaphorical shit together. However, considering my brain glitches more than my outdated iPhone that I refuse to upgrade (for reasons related to laziness), I’ll be lucky if I can manage to correctly aim into the toilet in another decade. Rather than berate myself for these awkward moments, I’ve decided to step away from being an angry parent to myself and learned to turn these mental lapses into humorous anecdotes. I may be going mad, but at least I’ll have something to chat about while institutionalized. White walls can be very dull.

And so, I encourage everyone to turn a new leaf for 2019. Mind you, I am no role model because I don’t like social interaction, but I do believe in severing old habits. Throw away those tired social norms and commitments! Light some sage! Maybe flick the match on that pile of clothes labeled “maybe one day when I have a very specific event in mind and am also willing to be uncomfortable for fashion purposes.” Bring out those stretchy pants!

Light your own way into 2019! (This is not a suggestion to commit arson – just to be clear.)



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