Oliebollen and Resolutions I Will Not Make

I ate another oliebol while refusing to reinvent myself, which feels like a very promising beginning. #

There are still oliebollen in this house, which means there is still powdered sugar on every surface within a radius that science has not yet adequately measured, and I have decided this is preferable to beginning January with celery and self-hatred. I keep seeing lists everywhere. New year, new habits, new body, new wardrobe, new routine, new personality, new everything. I understand the pleasure of a clean page, I really do, especially as someone who has spent half her life opening new HTML files and feeling briefly convinced that this time the code will remain elegant forever, but I don’t feel any urge to stand in front of myself with a red pen. I can improve things without declaring war on the person who existed on December thirty-first. Today I got dressed, went outside, bought groceries, came home, listened to music, answered messages, worked on the site for a while and ate an oliebol over the sink because I have finally learned something from the powdered sugar situation. That is enough self-improvement for forty-eight hours.

Remember me, Eclipse.