It’s taken me 58 years to realize I work too hard. Yeah. Too damn hard. I want more pleasure in my life. I want to sail across the ocean and eat jelly donuts for dinner. I don’t want to eat anymore kale. Or brussels sprouts. Or tofu. Or worry about cholesterol. Or heart attacks. Or plaque on my teeth. I don’t want to floss my teeth. Ever again. I hate brushing my teeth. Or washing my clothes.

I want someone else to do all those things for me. I will pay someone to eat my kale.  They can choke on the grass undertones in the kale salad while I gorge myself on a jelly donut. Big. Fat. Jelly filled pastry thing. A fat furious pastry. Jelly. Powdered sugar. Grease. And a chewy afterbite that I’ve been waiting for all my life.

Fuck the rest.

It’s a fine balance being alive. You want to do things “right.” You want to be “safe.” You want to be “happy.” And most of us want to be “rich.”

Yes, I want money. I want a lot of money. I’d rather have money than kale salad. They’re both green but one tastes better in my life.

I just think I’ve been playing it too safe. I have to go out on a limb. Walk across some giant rickety bridge 2,000 feet in the air above a gorge. Worry about falling into the abyss. In the end we’re all falling into an abyss. We just don’t know when.

So maybe for 2023 I’ll do the following:

Make a shitton of money.

Eat a shitton of jelly donuts.

Cross a shitton of bridges, literally and metaphorically.

Use words like “metaphorically” less and stick to hard cold nouns and verbs.

I want money.

I get money.

I eat donuts.

I like donuts.

I will walk across bridges.

I will sing to birds.

I will kill more ants.

Yes, I will kill more ants.

If they dare to step foot in my abode.

And I ain’t talkin’ metaphorically…

©2023 Bruce Palma. All rights reserved.