Instead of my melancholy annual post about the end of another trial-riddled year, I'm going to paint a picture of a perfect 2013.
I awaken January 1st and my voice is normal, there's no more stutter. The 45 pounds stay gone, but my boobs have moved back up where they belong and stop falling out beneath my underwire (true story).
I am energetic and nothing hurts. The fog has lifted and I can think again.
The phone rings and clearly it's an agent with a book deal to propose. We negotiate a sum that allows my parents to retire immediately, with me to follow after three more books. The publishing house understands the need to protect their new investment so when I claim I do my best writing while soaking in the Blue Lagoon, we are immediately sent to Iceland, first class, with a waterproof laptop. And an inflatable raft for Gabby so she can come along. To the Blue Lagoon, I mean. Obviously she's coming to Iceland with us.
The first half of the year is spent soaking and writing and due to the excess of hákarl available, I lose even more weight. But in a lean and lithe way from daily swims, not a sick and saggy way.
The second half of the year will be spent celebrating the monster success of the first book and creating inspirational memories for the next book. Mojitos and pools are critical to all brainstorming meetings.
I will buy my husband a motorcycle but only under condition that he wear the supplied helmet, which will be sparkly and pink like those sweet bowling balls. To match the glittering sidecars for me and the cat.
We will move somewhere a bit roomier than our current 610 square feet, but nothing ostentatious. Just some ivy growing up the bricks to shield the pool from the neighbors, since Mark will never put on a bathing suit even though I buy him one with glow in the dark skulls on it. And a small guest house for the relatives when they visit for extended periods, which they will since we move somewhere gorgeous like the Pacific Northwest. Or North Carolina. Or Utah, but that's a tough call because I'm not sure if the Great Salt Lake makes up for all the Mormons.
A year of writing and water, bonfires and cat cuddles. Long weekends with the husband and family. Strong muscles that do as they're told by my brain and a brain that is as sharp as it used to be.
My wish for 2013 is that at its end, I sit down with a happy sign and say to myself...let's do that again.
Cheers to that kind of year for all of us. Now let's drink champagne. You brought it, right? It's not in my budget. But it will be next year, in magical 2013. And not even Cook's, dude, maybe a good bottle like Korbel.