I am not one for resolutions. It has never made much sense to me. New Years Day all across the world people are obsessed with this to-do list of ways to perfect themselves, new things to try, places to go... As if on the 1st of every year Fortuna herself smiles down on creation and gives us all a +5 to willpower. I am not so easily fooled. I refuse to scrutinize my imperfections, resolve to fix all the "wrongs" with myself, and feel horrible down the line because I failed to keep on track... isn't all that just a part of being human?

I found myself going through some of my old comics and trading cards over my holiday. I remember how it felt to be a child reading these stories. How I fell in love with these characters. I, like many young people I know, had a less than fortunate childhood. My mother was killed at young age, and I lived a life of an orphan... minus the "may I have some more sir?" For me fantasy was my reality, because what I had seen of the world painted a picture that I did not want to look at.

Enough back story. As I was saying, I idolized these characters. I felt like I was Rogue, Mary Jane, Jubilee. I felt ostracized, out of place, different. I pretended on the play yard that I had powers, that I kicked ass. I would pick up abandoned coins wherever I went. A dollar twenty-five was all I needed each week to keep up with my other world. As I got a bit older and boys seemed less like rodents and more like would-be princes, I had imaginary romances with Logan, Remy, and Peter Parker. Kinda lame, but it was totally hot and steamy.

At this point in my self saga, I know you have to be going, "where is this going?" I assure you I am not just ranting, although that is the validity of blogging.

I am 26 and just a little over a year out of a violent relationship. I almost became my mother. If you knew me as a young girl you would have thought that I was going to be a journalist or the director of an international save-the-something foundation. When I hit 20 I hooked up with a guy that fed my dark side. I thought I had my own Wolverine, unfortunately he truly was... whatever happened to myself as the unbreakable woman?

I have a huge trunk full of these comics. I flipped through page after page. Set aside one tattered-paged short after another. Then I found my Tank Girl ^_^

So many of the fantasy females are strong, intelligent, deadly. Time after time these lead women walk back into less than satisfying, sometimes horrible (Harley & Mr. J.) relationships. Why should comic book females, heck, any female settle for lackluster companionship? My answer stares at me with duck-tapped nipples, bomber goggles, and a cigar hanging from her lips. Light bulb flashes on, inspiration is found.

It is feasible to be sexy, creative, independent, and be committed. Tank is the embodiment of what I thought I was going to become, and somewhere inside myself still am. I am the author of my story, I fell into a 6 year hole, I will from this day forward call that a story-arch. This year I going to be super. Not a super hero, not a supreme being with awesome powers, just myself with the power of awsomeness. Now that is a resolution. Happy 2012 ya'll!