My favorite thing to do during the dead week between Christmas and New Years, when time is just a construct and sitting on the couch in the same pants for days is basically required, is to envision Future Adrienne absolutely slaying the new year.
It doesn’t matter that Current Adrienne is a total sloth who’s living on pizza, Chex Mix, and Married at First Sight. Or that her hair smells because she refuses to wash it. Because in 2024, Future Adrienne has boundless energy. In 2024, she pops out of bed at five am on the dot. Slays a workout. Pounds some green juice—just so I know, where does one source green juice??? Whole Foods?—future Adrienne hits the ground running, happily commuting, working, writing, mothering.
Truly, I love lying here braless, thinking about 2024, fresh and clean, all the possibilities endless. None of my dreams have been tainted yet by an oh my fucking god I’m so tired or The English teacher called… or it’s time to replace your IUD or your sixty thousand mile servi…
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