It’s official. New Year’s Eve 2015 was the worst. And I’m not just saying that because I was forced to watch the NBC Carson Daly crapfest with Miss Daisy only to have them not even show the ball drop while I listened to NeNe Leakes talk about her wig collection. It didn’t feel like New Year’s Eve. It was just like a normal Saturday night only with shrimp cocktail and stuffed clams. Normally on this holiday I am melancholy, drink even more than usual and write. This year I was totally indifferent.
As I’ve written many times, my wedding anniversary was New Year’s Eve. This memory usually adds to my sour mood. But honestly, this year I almost forgot. I went to work, ran errands, picked up a bottle of prosecco and then remembered, “Oh hey, this was the anniversary of the greatest mistake of my life.” And then the thought flew out of my head so quickly I could have been mistaken for a Kardashian.
For me, indifference is an epic success. You see, on New Year’s Eve eve, I finished the third re-write of my screenplay. The story started as a novel on December 31, 2012. After struggling with it for a year, I started converting it on December 31, 2013 to a screenplay in the hopes that would be easier to finish. 711 days later, I finally did. New Year’s Eve eve brought a rush of optimism that 2016 would be a better year. I was inspired. I revised the ending into something I was truly satisfied with. For the first time, I believed it would be sold and produced. This epiphany was part of the reason I did not write last night. I rested on my cushy memory foam laurels.
Then it hit me why my mood had instantly transformed.
You see, this screenplay is about my life. It chronicles my mostly-true, highly dysfunctional journey to find myself after my divorce.
The one thing I still want from my ex was an apology. A confession of all the ways in which I was wronged. After a few years of holding out for that, I had to settle for the adage of: “Living well is the best revenge.” My ex had fancied himself a writer. I set out to be a better writer. Judging from his “published” work, I am. (Did you ever have a doubt?) But I thought that getting my jabs at him in a movie would be the most gratification I could expect.
And now the work is done. The script is complete, and with that the last tie I to my ex I was holding onto is hacked through with a chainsaw. I am ecstatic, because without meaning to brag, I know it is very funny and heartwarming. I know it will be sold. I’m still hoping Hugh Jackman will sign on, but even if he doesn’t I think it will be an indie hit. A cult classic would be cool. And so, I can let go. I’ve tried many times, but I needed this little moral victory, being the only one I would get. What I’m feeling is the weight of 17 years of lies, pointless sacrifice and injustice being lifted off my shoulders. I win. And you can bet if this movie ever gets made, and I get to be on the red carpet at the premiere, I will be wearing a gown with “I WIN” bedazzled on it. Or maybe spelled out in a tiara with flashing LED lights.
I am finally done. I’ve said it before, but now I know I really am. I get the satisfaction of being the successful writer and showing him on the big screen that he did not break me. Finally free of these chains and the concrete weight I was dragging around, I can enter 2016 without that baggage haunting me. Life begins today.
I completed my resolution for 2015 with a day to spare. I’ve decided to be more ambitious for 2016 and list 10 instead of 1, considering all the added energy I should have now. Without further ado, here is my list of resolutions for the New Year:
- Look less pregnant. Now let’s be realistic, it’s not that I intend to start exercising or going on a serious diet. But I may start wearing all black and things with vertical stripes. That seems more achievable.
- Be kind to my liver. Not that I plan on cutting back on my wine consumption, but maybe I’ll aim to do a liver detox every quarter.
- Take a trip to Montreal, because that’s where my soul calls home. Also: strippers.
- Have sex with someone who doesn’t share my name and identity. I know I’m hot and fascinating, but I’m getting a little bored with myself.
- Invest in sexy underwear for a change. Not so sexy it feels ridiculous wearing it, but I’ve noticed when you start buying underwear that comes in a 6-pack at Target, it’s time to reprioritize my priorities as a single woman. (See #4.)
- Find a job at a place where Satan is not in charge.
- Carry a journal with me everywhere, because funny shit happens all the time and the alcohol has killed most of my short-term memory.
- Take a real vacation to somewhere I’ve never been, that probably involves Nordic looking men and the Northern Lights.
- Leave the house more than once a month. It’s clear I won’t be finding love on a dating site, and the chances of meeting him in my backyard are pretty slim.
- Either finish the sequel to my screenplay, or a draft of the book of essays I’ve been wanting to write. Let’s keep the momentum going.
I’m starting tomorrow with the Victoria’s Secret Semi-Annual Sale. Maybe they sell black underwear with vertical stripes.