While watching many, many episodes of Murder, She Wrote (I could find the exact number, but then my brain would convert it to hours and some things are best not known. Still, it’s great for the hair and the clothes and the guest stars (though a lot of them are dead now (not all! the first episode has a very young Andy Garcia!), but if you can detach from that long enough to remember what you’ve seen them in before, and where you were at the time, you can live in multiple pasts for as long or as little as you’d like), I thought perhaps I would make a resolution to be more like Jessica Fletcher. She stays busy, she’s smart, with an eye for detail, confident, assertive (but always so polite!), and so calm about everything. And though she’s rarely there, she has a house by the water — a dream of mine when I manage to block out the potential horrors of water, the sun, sand, and tourists. At one point we were even wearing the same sweater and I thought look how close I am already! I could so manage this! But shortly after, things started to fall apart. Yes she has a house by water, but in Maine where it gets far too cold. My fat is for decorative purposes only. And her house is too big, with shit all over the walls and every surface. My imaginary house by the water would be small and have no things (okay, not no things, but few things). Sure we shared the one sweater, but she’s mostly in skirt suits, complete with hose and shoes with heels that she accessorizes with earrings and a necklace and sometimes even a pin. Plus a full face of makeup! I don’t even own a pin. Or earrings, despite the fact that I have seven holes in my ears, and I like pants. I could definitely get with her jogging outfits, but then I’d also have to jog. I could jog, should jog, really, so that’s not necessarily a deal breaker, but I don’t want to solve crimes either. Her relatives are each involved in multiple murder investigations! I could never stay calm if one of my children were wrongfully accused of murder and if there were more than one time, I would completely lose my shit and send them back to the bubble. I wouldn’t even ask wtf was going on or who they were hanging out with. Get in the fucking bubble, kids! Jessica would never say fucking. She wouldn’t have a bubble, either. She’d just be sure she’d get to the bottom of everything and straighten things out. And then she would! Because she is not real! So I had to scratch this plan. I have no other plan to take its place.