In my office building there’s a woman that sits in the elevator all day. That is her job. To size you up and down as you step into the carriage and decide that she knows which floor you’re headed to – and press the button for you. This woman drives me crazy. What kind of stupid job is that?

There are four floors to the company where I work and every time I ride the elevator she presumes to know which floor I’m headed to. And always, without fail, presses 4 for the main office. What if I am going to the conference room on the second floor? What if the 4th floor loos are really gross right now and I want to go to the ones on the 3rd floor? Elevator Lady, you don’t know me. Keep your presumptuous button-pressing fingers to yourself.

Bu yao tui wo. In Chinese, this means “Don’t push me”. A very handy phrase to learn because space is at such a premium. Say it in your most indignant voice – “Bu yao tui wo!” And a lot of good it does, too. Tomorrow: How to tell the sun to stop shining.

There’s a lot going on in my head right now. Too much, possibly. I’m listening to the radio and there’s a “doctor” explaining how, sometimes, when you’re thinking of someone, they’ll ring you. He’s saying how it’s a telepathic phenomenon common among family and close friends. Apparently he’s just been given a mega-huge research grant to study this further.

Cancer! Cure cancer, you self-indulgent fool! Nobody gives a damn about how sometimes you are about to ring your bank to apologize for being overdrawn – again! – and as you reach for the phone, the bank rings you and the unrelenting robot on the other end chews you out. Sure it’s a bit of an “ooh” moment but the guy from the bank hardly counts as family or a close friend and, again: Cancer. Alzheimer’s. Cancer. Get to it.

And….Jersey Girl. The song by Bruce Springsteen. I’m convinced it’s totally about me. I can’t tell you how I know this, but I do. Love it. Love Bruce. I think it’s ok for me to have happy thoughts about him now. The age gap has evened out enough. Yes it has, yes it has, yes it has.

Our apartment is quite possibly being burgled as I type this. Why do I think that? Because I sounds like someone is trying to jimmy the door open. It happens quite a lot around these parts because the floors and apartment doors are not clearly marked and you can get off on the wrong floor and spend quite a bit of time trying to manipulate your key into the wrong lock and getting very flustered and annoyed when the key jams, and possibly breaks, in the lock. Before you realize that this is not where you live and the abuse you’ve been hurling at the wood paneled door is completely misdirected. And of course by “you”, I mean “I”.

What have I seen so far? Well, in 5 short days, 2009 has not done much to reveal herself to me. But I have seen a lot of optimism. I’ve seen people talk about diets they want to go on, trips they plan to take, relationships they want to extricate themselves from, lovers they plan to seduce, jobs they want get and causes thy want to promote.

What is it about a fresh, 365-day cycle that makes ambitions seem more achievable? I’m terrible at goal-setting. Because I am petrified of failure. What better way to avoid failing to reach a goal than to avoid articulating it in the first place? Which is not the same as not setting the goal. I’m talking about using vague language like: “I don’t want to stand still in 2009” or “I want to be happy this year.”. Yeah.

People do that a lot. Vagueness and obscurity are comfortable. Like a massive quilt that you can snuggle under at any time to remain insulated from the cold reality of unfulfilled potential. People tell themselves, “Well, I never said outright that that was what I wanted to do, so the fact that I haven’t managed to do it is not a big deal.” The semantics of regret. People should stop doing that this year. And by “people” I mean “I”.