The problem with toasts
I don’t believe there’s a year I’ve kept to, or kept (period), my list of resolutions. I think the last time I wrote one out, I did so on a cocktail napkin that was cleared away like the spittle on the corner of my mouth — clearly Fate wanted to see if I’d paid attention to myself. I didn’t. No one does. And maybe that’s why I did what I did.
So I don’t do resolutions once a year. I do them every day when I think of them and that keeps my success rate afloat. The equation is:
Oliver’s resolutions = Oliver’s everyday chores
What does this have to do with toast?
Speaking specifically about predictive toasts for the new year (“Here’s to getting that raise you’ve been working so hard for!”), in a strange Fate-ful way these types of toasts are like voodoo. Before you know it, once clinked, someone may have locked you into something, or perhaps jinxed you into chasing after something you’ll never catch. You can’t reason with a toast because it’d be rude to correct a toaster’s well wishes for they are not your own to manipulate. To make matters worse there are often witnesses, and if you look carefully, some eyes sharpen as if a mental record is being printed onto a vinyl disk of schadenfreude.
And so, 2012 is the year I’m to “finish the book.”
Easy, right?
Depends on semantics. Finish the book is easily accomplished. Finish the book and get an agent? Finish the book and get an agent who is able to work a contract to publish?! Finish the book, get an agent, get published, get spotted by a studio, and get an adaptation for a movie starring my mother’s favorite actor who invites her out to dinner and a visit to his favorite vacation spot?!!
[shudder] “The horror… the horror…”