Just once, I'd like to get through a day without falling.

So I have these "life goals."

Problematically, they reset every year. Actually, they're due to competely change, oh ... Tuesday-ish.

But while in past years my self-imposed mandate was fun and easy to fulfill – "get into medical school" (oops) – I felt that this year was supposed to be a turning point of sorts.

I mean, I know it's just a number, but I will officially-officially, not just legally-officially, be a grown-up. And while I've arguably been a grown-up for some time now, I had some necessary, quantifiable, and, problematically, impossible goals for this year.

Highlights: "set better goals"; "be less anti-social"; "learn how to talk"; "stop being clumsy."

As was kindly pointed out to me over birthday-dinner this evening, qualities like clumisness can be endearing. Well, sure. When you're just clumsy. Or just quiet. Or even, I suppose, if you're just unavoidably and unsociably blunt.

I must be as endearing as a leperous-fucking-teddy bear. Small wonder I'll be spending my birthday alone, re-considering and re-contemplating, and setting new unattainable goals on top of of the old ones.

But when I fall off my bike on to the middle of Yonge St. just days shy of the deadline for meeting the much-aforementioned prerogatives, something has to give, be it my tenacity or the goals.

On second thought, I still have a few days. After all, I really just need to make it one day, one full day without falling ...