New Year Resolutions

I am not one for New Year resolutions. I know my limitations, as they say. Already a victim of the “To-Do-list-which-just-gets-longer” syndrome, I don’t want to be making myself another list of things which I am unlikely to complete. So I will simply lower my standards… Perhaps the trouble with New Year resolutions is that they are too high and mighty (for me, at least). There’s nothing like a bit of lowering of the sights to bring about some true inspiration. Hmmm. Perhaps my resolutions should go like this…

Resolution Number 1: Get out of bed in the morning. Now, in some ways this is actually quite an achievement. I have documented the way gravity piles up on my bed during the course of the night. Stephen Hawking could explain it better but it is an observed phenomenon whereby the curvature of the earth and the lack of sunlight cause a contraction of the time-space continuum in such a manner that it is really quite difficult to get my body out of bed. Since being a teenager I have struggled against the Laws of Physics but as Engineer Scott in Star Trek was often wont to observe, ya canna change the Laws o’ Physics! But with surprising regularity I do manage to scramble from my lovely warm duvet den and get myself to work on time. As such, this brave accomplishment needs to be recognised. And by having it as a “New-Year’s-resolution-that-I’ve-already-achieved-so-I-am-bound-to-be-successful”, this act of determination can be officially recognised. Yay.

Resolution Number 2: Eat chocolate. Okay. I admit it. This is the cheekiest of all my resolutions-I’ve-already-achieved. When I say all my resolutions, I mean all two of them. Including this one. Getting out of bed does actually require some sort of effort and is, as far as I am concerned, not an Enjoyable Event. Whereas eating chocolate is. But I don’t care. The great thing about resolutions is that they are self-inflicted. And i choose to inflict myself with the consumption of chocolate. Hurray for me.

Resolution Number 3: Continue growing a beard. By now you have probably surmised (because I know how clever you are) that as resolution lists go, this one could be viewed as… how, shall I phrase it?… pathetic. But remember my criteria. I am designing a list of resolutions that I am guaranteed to fulfil. Patheticness is, by definition, almost guaranteed. But before I rush hurriedly onto my next resolution, I think we need to stop here and ponder upon the practice of beard-growing. I have known people who have been sponsored for this activity. People actually gave them money to grow a beard. This is beyond my Zone of Comprehension. Raising money for charitable causes is a fine and noble deed. My hat is thoroughly off to all of those people engaged in such activity. But surely the task to be undertaken should require some effort? Running, swimming, making a paper-mache model of your grandma, these all require effort. Growing a beard requires even less effort than not growing a beard. I save time and effort (and a little money even) by not shaving. How strange to be sponsored for such an event. Likewise with moustaches. I can only think that this charitable act must fall into the second category: doing something uncomfortable. Like sitting in a bath of baked beans. But discomfort from beard-growing hardly measures at all on the Richter scale – a slight occasional itch perhaps. doing something foolish. Perhaps beard-growing falls into the third category: doing something foolish. Oh how saddened I am that beard-growth has been designated as foolish. Which is contrary to the popular conception that beards are now cool and trendy. I eagerly await the day the moustache returns to its rightful place as the epitome of style. Having sported a moustache for most of my life, sometimes attached to the previously mentioned beard and sometimes not, I know there will come a day when such facial hair is no longer ridiculed. But I digress.

Resolution Number 4: I will digress. As you may have noticed, digression and I go hand in hand. Like lifelong chums, we frolic in the sunshine and run amongst the puddles in the rain. I will embrace my digressive tendencies and wander so far off-topic that I can’t find my way back and have to ask a friendly policeman the way home. But I digress.

Resolution Number 5: I will repeat myself. I will. I surely will. I know I will.

Resolution Number 6: I will carry on regardless. Even when I have I have no sixth resolution, I will continue to bluster in an authoritative manner that gives the impression I know what I’m talking about.

Resolution Number 7: I will break my own rules.

Resolution Number 8: I will limit myself to eight and only eight resolutions. This is a fixed and irrevocable limit that is cast in stone and unchangeable.

Resolution Number 9: See Number 7.

Resolution Number 10: I will know when to stop. I will know when to finish this list.

Resolution Number 11: No I won’t. And now I’ve gone too far. But I will not be intimidated by the thought of making a list that is composed of eleven entries. As opposed to a round number like ten. Or an old-fashioned round number like twelve. I will get to eleven and I will stop. I will not have sleepless nights because my list is not composed of a round number of items.

Resolution Number 12: Why are you still reading this? I told you there’d only be eleven. Stop it now. Go and do something productive. Go make your own list of resolutions you are bound to fulfil. Go. Shoo.

Resolution Number 13: Maybe I should stop at fifteen. That’s sort of a round number. The round number ten added to half of the round number ten. It’s roundish. Fifteen resolutions. Yes.

Resolution Number 14: My list will comprise fifteen resolutions. Oh no. Miscalculation.

Oh well.


2 Comments to “New Year Resolutions”

  1. I gave up New Year Resolutions a long time ago. I, too, recognized that I didn’t have the will power to keep them. Indeed, last week’s Cafe Church was based around the same subject. Most of us agreed that making those annual resolutions did not work. As for beard growing, I’ve been without one for over two years now. The reason I grew one in the first place was that I was fed up with cutting myself, every time I shaved. Thankfully, my battery powered shaver does not cut me, and I remain, clean shaven. So, where does that leave me? It leaves me sat at home, with my laptop on my knee, trying to ignore the gale force winds, blowing outside.

    • Indeed, shaving can be dangerous. And what say you as regards the insulation properties of the mighty beard? Are we bearded ones not protected from the harshness of said gale force winds?

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