AS I PLEASE XVI: I RESOLVE TO HATE RESOLUTIONS

I hate resolutions. New Year's Eve or otherwise. There is something ritualistically foolish in the idea of making drunken promises to yourself you have no intention of keeping. I can't remember the last time I myself made one, or if I have ever made one at all. On the other hand, if you swap "resolution" for another word -- "intention," for example, or "will," or even "plan" -- my opposition dissolves, and I can give you reams of examples of, uh, desires I've had for the future, and whether or not I satisfied them. Such are the power of words.

This year I...intended, willed myself, and planned to achieve certain goals and accomplish certain things. We are now past the halfway mark and that is about where I am in the success department regarding said intentions. Here we go.

* As I am now fifty years of age, I wanted to make sure I kicked off the decade by getting back into the same kind of shape I was at forty. The year did not begin auspiciously, but when, like an alcoholic I admitted I was powerless to achieve this goal by myself and enlisted help, specifically a Nurse Practictioner who specializes in weight management, my long-standing frustrations in this department crumbled. Turns out what I needed was not discipline or knowledge but accountability. I got on the scale this morning and was greeted with the figure of 198.8 lbs. This means I've lost 8.7 lbs in exactly 40 days. Since I started at a porky 207.5, I still have quite a ways to go, somewhere between ten and fifteen pounds. But the trend is definitely in the right direction.

* I also intended to cure myself of my dopamine addiction, i.e. my incessant habit of looking at my phone at all times and situations. In this I failed miserably. I'm disgusted with myself, because most of the time I had a cell phone I used it mainly for calls, texts and GPS, but in the last few years I've become an app addict and I don't like it. I know the cure: delete every unncessary app, ignore the phone when I'm not using it for a definitely necessary purpose, and keep it where I can't reach it when I'm driving. I'm just unwilling to do this right now. I don't concede total defeat, but my army definitely ran away from its first battle.

* My epic horror novel Something Evil took me an agonizing 2,418 days to complete. That's six and a half years exactly. Guess when I finished it? 2023. This is not really anything to crow about, as it should have been completed at least three years earlier; nevertheless, crow I shall. I wanted that millstone cut from my neck this year and cut it I did. Man, did that feel good. It's amazing how oppressive it is, mentally and spirituially, to have a huge unfinished creative project looming over you.

* I have heard porn addiction is a real thing. To test this theory, I decided to go 100 days without any. Guess what? I didn't notice. Or care when I did notice. Covid isolation made porn a reflex-action for many men and a surprising number of women. Turns out, it's not only not an addiction, it's not even really a habit. It's basically the equivalent of flipping channels. You do it because. Not because you need it or even want it. Just because. I wonder how many of the things we do in modern life fall into this dismal category?

* Traveling is important to me. Not because I enjoy traveling -- I hate traveling -- but because I like being at the destination. More than that, I like having the experiences that come with it all to reflect upon later. I have long believed Jung was right when he said that the people who did things were happier than the people who owned things. But Covid locked me down for two years, which was unacceptable, and I resolved (sorry) to change that. So far, this year, I've spent time in Dallas, Montreal and Quebec City, none of which I had ever set foot in before. And I plan on making at least two more trips before the year's over. I'm working deeply in the red here, and must make up for stolen time.

* My friend "Marie" once told me that she felt every year, the amount of sex a person should have ought to increase. I'm not going to go there in this blog, but I will say that as a writer, every year, the amount of writing a writer does should also increase. In addition to putting a stake in my horror novel, I also banged out Exiles a second entry in my "Chronicles of Magnus" series, which is itself a full-length novel. After much debate and many false starts in different directions, I also began Cold Day, Cruel World, my third CAGE LIFE novel, and my first visitation to that world since I published the second book in 2016. It was sort of like coming home, and I've enjoyed working on it so far. And I "resolve" to finish it in 2023.

* This was also the year I was going to revisit the world of traditional publishing. The jury is still out in this department, but the signs are not terrible. That's about all I can say right now, except that tonight I am sending a book proposal to my editor, and from there, to an agent of our mutual acquaintance. (If anything moves on that front, this forum will be the first to hear the news.)

* I tried to quit caffeine this year. Boy did I fail in that department. Turns out a love coffee more than I hate paying for anxiety. Lesson learned.

* When I moved back East in 2020, I could not bring my library with me. This caused a downturn in my reading output for the first time in many years. I started substituting the time I used to spend reading watching TV, or screwing around on the interwebs, or playing video games, or even exercising. I tried and failed several times to hit the Goodreads Challenge goal I set for myself. Last year I failed by only one book, but I still failed. This year I'm a book behind schedule, but have already begun #7, a biography of Stalin written by Robert Payne. I can, I must, I will meet or exceed the pathetically modest goal of twelve new books consumed in 2023. Really, I will. Truly.

It's my...wish.