Someday
Someday I’m gonna be a better human being.
Someday I’m gonna stop procrastinating. I’m gonna start waking up early to enjoy the morning quiet and meditate like a monk. I’m gonna be zen as shit.
Someday I’m gonna speak more elegantly and stop using so many fucking cuss words.
Someday I’m gonna ride on an airplane, and when that airplane lands, I’m gonna sit in my seat and hum super complex pieces of classical music instead of having my usual anxiety attack where I tick off each row that exits before me and obsessively strategize about how I’m going to get my carryon from the overhead compartment in one smooth buttery motion so I don’t offend the person behind me, thereby avoiding a would-be confrontation that lands me in TSA custody.
Someday I’m gonna start saving for retirement. I’m gonna invest. I’m gonna talk intelligently about compound interest and the Wall Street Journal but, like, in a thoughtful, ethical way that’s not at all douchey, and I’m only gonna flaunt my money in the presence of Crypto knuckleheads and only to inspire them to be, ya know, more modest.
Someday I’m gonna come to terms with the fact that I’ll never again dunk a basketball, and I’ll arrive at that sad, tragic conclusion with the mature acceptance of a death row inmate who has made her peace with the Lord.
Someday I’m gonna stop wishing hateful things on cyclists. I’ll just drive right past them, calmly and peacefully, and I won’t even mumble anything defamatory about their stupid spandex and the way it compresses their testicles and probably has a severely as-of-yet-scientifically-unverified-but-definitely-negative impact on the DNA they pass on to their dumb offspring.
Someday I’m gonna be a hugger. Even when I don’t want to hug someone, I’m gonna do it. Because people need more hugs. At least I assume they do because most people are turds, and hugs have gotta help with de-turdifying people. That’s just biology.
Someday I’m gonna stop being so vain. I’m gonna stop obsessing over my hairline and my weight and the way one side of my lips are higher than the other when I smile and my pigeon-toed gait and the way I look in pictures and my Bert-and-Ernie eyebrows and my nipples that are bigger than I want them to be. And I’m definitely gonna stop comparing myself to Brad Pitt and Robert Redford and Denzel Washington and Christ crucified in all those paintings where he has super defined abs. Holy shit, I’m gonna be gloriously humble.
Someday my default philosophy is gonna be optimism. I’m gonna watch the news and hear about World Wars and famines and hate crimes and school shootings and powerful government employees who shoot puppies—I’m gonna take all that in, and I’m gonna feel hope. I’m gonna squeeze every ounce of hope from that pure, concentrated evil.
Someday I’m gonna stop cracking “That’s what she said” jokes. I’m gonna grow up, and when I hear people say things like, “This is way too big” or “I’ll take it any way I can get it,” I’ll just nod and go right on participating in adult conversation, and I’ll be totally okay with it—firm and committed (That’s what she said!).
Someday I’m gonna finish learning Spanish. My accent will be as good as anything on a telenovela, and it will be sexy but not gratuitously sexy. Just the right amount of sexy. And I’ll have so many amigos nuevos that I wouldn’t have otherwise. And we’ll chop it up in Español, and they will call me Normando, never gringo. It’s gonna be asombroso. So pinche asombroso.
Someday I’m gonna stop noodling on the guitar and really learn it. I’m gonna master all the chords, all the scales, and even the modes (whatever those are). And young people will come and ask me for life advice, and I’ll just whip out the guitar and sing them a little ditty that I improvise on the spot. And the lyrics are gonna be so profound and the melody is gonna be so emotionally stirring that I’ll inspire those young people to take up their own instruments and the world will be filled with so much beautiful music—everyone will be Singin’ in the Rain up in this bitch.
Someday I’m gonna stop having revenge fantasies. When that son of a bitch in the raised Chevy with the dumb fuck bootleg sticker of Calvin peeing on the Ford logo cuts me off and doesn’t do me the courtesy of an apology wave, I’m not gonna imagine hunting him down at his trailer park, driving him out to The Salton Sea, and making him dig his own grave while he begs for mercy and I pretend not to hear him the same way he pretended not to see me. Instead, I’m just gonna breathe through the blind, seething rage and have faith that the divine will intervene and somehow the bastard will develop irritable bowel syndrome until he learns a little god damn consideration.
Someday I’m gonna stop eating when I’m full—I’m not gonna wait until I hate myself. And I’m definitely not gonna pop Cadbury Crème Eggs like Tic Tacs anymore. I’m gonna listen to my body before it makes crazy digestion noises that sounds like cries for help. I’m gonna listen to my body so freakin’ good that I’m gonna keep all my limbs. Suck it, diabetes.
Someday I’m gonna be a better human being.
So much better.
Someday.
Written with a nod (and a debt of gratitude) to the short film, Retirement Plan.
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Someday. When I’m awfully low I will feel the glow just thinking of you and the many ways you’ve failed miserably 😆😆😆😆😆
Your aspirations to become a better human, and never moving the needle on any of it, will only increase your overall anxiety. A better tactic is set goals that are more achievable. For instance, you might try “For the next 4 weeks I will not sexually molest any hot dwarfs”, which is something even your lazy ass can probably accomplish.