By now, a few of our New Year’s resolutions already have been kicked to the curb.
They did not survive the night. We have betrayed them, disowned them and packed them away with the Christmas decorations.
In less than 24 hours, our new resolve has reverted to its old ways.
Exercise? (Later, dude.) Better organized? (Excuse me, while I try to find my list.) Diet? (Pass the cookies, please.)
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Couch potatoes are back on the menu -- scattered, smothered, covered, chunked, diced, peppered, capped and topped, as if they were hash browns at the Waffle House.
Mark Twain took everyone to task for what he called “humbug resolutions.” It’s never long, he said, before we begin “paving hell with them, as usual.”
Which is why, in addition to my reasonable goals of self-improvement for the next 365 days, I make an alternate list of “resolutions I can keep.”
I resolve to remain loyal to the five basic food groups, which I believe are barbecue, Coca-Cola, Nu-Way, boiled peanuts and Chinese takeout.
I resolve to brake for sunrises and sunsets. The earth is at its loveliest when the torch is being passed at dawn and dusk. I promise to pause and admire the gallery.
I resolve to make a cameo appearance with Grapevine, one of Macon’s most popular bands. I don’t know when or where, but I’ve gotten the green light to sing at least one song with them in the coming year. Stay tuned.
I resolve to dig my fingers in the dirt. I might not win “yard of the month,” but I’m going to have fun trying to keep my thumbs green.
I resolve not to attempt to skywalk between the BB&T and Fickling buildings in downtown Macon. For someone who is deathly afraid of heights and whose knees start shaking above the third rung of the ladder, I will leave the tightrope acrobatics to the birds, squirrels and Mr. Wallenda.
I resolve to watch “The Middle” on ABC every Wednesday night. We love the Hecks at our house -- Mike, Frankie, Axl, Sue and Brick. Middle-age parents raising a middle-class family in middle America. Television doesn’t get any better.
I resolve to improve my penmanship. I pledge to dot my i’s, cross my t’s and restore glory to all those crooked letters and humpbacks. I will prove cursive is not a lost art and return to the days when I could read my own handwriting.
I resolve to blame everything on the dog. Or the computer. Or previous administrations.
I resolve to wear a tie to work, blue jeans at home and to hold all hugs for at least 20 seconds. (It releases the oxytocins.)
I resolve not to trust The Weather Channel and carry an umbrella, anyway.
I resolve to “unplug,” if only for a little while every day. It will be a challenge to refrain from constantly checking emails, text messages and researching the ratification of the 19th amendment on Wikipedia. But I do need to quit fretting about battery life (except my own). When my smartphone starts heating up in my hand, that’s a sure sign of mobile warming.
I resolve not to eat green eggs and ham. I will not eat them in a box. I will not eat them with a fox. I will not eat them in a house. I will not eat them with a mouse. I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them Sam, Pam and Cam-I-Am.
I resolve to keep writing ... but only if you keep reading.
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