It's that time again. New Year's Resolutions. I'm not making too many this year - it's too hard to keep a lot of them, and once I start screwing up - all bets are off.

1. Walk, walk, walk. I don't give a shite how cold it is. I don't care what kind of cardio meds I'm on - there are others who take the same stuff, and run marathons for Christ's sake...

2. Stop eating things that come in bags, cans and boxes. Those things are simply put poison. I've had this conversation before. The last time I gave those prettily wrapped items up, I lost 30 pounds. Since I took them up again, I've gained them all back... Connection much???

3. Find out why I seem to need to run away from men. It's not that I don't want to become involved in a relationship again - It's just that whenever one appears to be on the verge, I get all freaked out and run the other way. (I suppose this will entail some soul-searching Diaryland entries...)

4. If I manage to figure out the item above - get laid.

5. Be very courageous, and insist my doctor send me to the surgeon to have that ugly tumor removed from my left thigh. I don't give a shite if I am in an HMO, and they don't like to work. It's ugly and it hurts when I bang into stuff with it. Oh, but I'm scared of anesthesia! I've only been put out a couple of times, and I lived through them both - but, I get scared I'll go off to sleep, and never wake up again.

6. Have a massage, at least every couple of months.

I think that's plenty.

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More bird stuff:

I got up at about 9:30 this morning, and opened the sliding glass door to see what was up outside. Gosh, it smells just like it does when we're out camping someplace. It smells green.

Right away, the male falcon was swooping down in the parking lot of the Little League field, apparently looking for bugs. He'd swoop down, and then go back to his post (literally, he was sitting on a post). He'd swoop, re-post, swoop, re-post. He must be sort of young, because I don't think he's a very good hunter yet.

Across the field, actually, in the gardens, sitting atop a telephone pole, was the female falcon. She was just sitting there, kinda looking like she was taking a nap - when all of a sudden, she swooped down into the pile of manure/mulch and grabbed a little somebody in her talons. She returned to the pole, and began tearing apart whatever it was. Slowly and casualy. Eeew!

If falcons are like other meat-eating birds, and they have a "territory", we must be smack dab in the center of it. Cool!

SLAY ON BUFFY!! (Oh! just thought of some names for the falcons. Female = Buffy. Male = Spike)

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