I was never one for New Year's resolutions. But then, I'm not much for one-day celebrations. Valentine's Day: the one day we set aside to show our love. Anniversary: the one day we set aside to make damned sure we have a memory of that one day. Christmas: used to be that one day (with Easter as a close Number Two) Christians set aside to remember that Jesus guy, but nowadays it's that one day we set aside to get in debt in the name of that Santa guy. Guy Fawkes Day: that one day Britons set aside to remember something or other about that Guy guy. My family never much celebrated my birthday, though they seemed to dote on another sibling, so I learned that I wasn't that right guy on that day. Like everyone else, I was born on a day that we name on an artificial calendar, and we just so happen to live on a planet that revolves around the gravitational pull of its star every 365 and one-fourth days. Then bam! Time to get all sentimental about an artificial number we attach to ourselves, a number that grows by one every 365 an one-fourth days.
So I never once in my life made a New Year's resolution. I've resolved to do things that would either hinder or help my health or growth, but sometimes it happened on, say, September 28th. Why the fuck not?
By the way, I am finished with a first edit of what I'm calling a pre-apocalypse novel. I'll return to it after I finish the first draft of Part One of what I'm calling a historical satire that will get me in hot water with my evangelical acquaintances. Then I'll go back and wrap things up with the pre-apocalypse novel, most likely to be published in 2019. Almost sounds "resolutionesqe," doesn't it? Shit, I'm outa here!