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Resolution Showdown By M. Hutton There’s no avoiding it. There’s no more denying it. There’s no more getting away from it. Today is December 31, 2001, and I need to have a "come to Jesus" with myself over the disappointing results from my 2001 New Year’s resolutions and gather the strength, fortitude and determination to become a winner in life and actually accomplish my resolutions for 2002! My resolutions from last year included several standards:
Now I guess I could say that I actually accomplished some of my ordained goals in a truly non-distinct sort of way. I did lose pounds several times over 2001. Unfortunately, I found them again and some of the pounds I sent away brought their friends when they returned. I weigh more today than I did last December 31, 2001. Now there’s an accomplishment! Perhaps next year’s resolution will be to gain weight, and then I will actually have a chance at losing weight. Last year, like many years before, found me determined to increase my savings account and decrease my spending. I was actually making great strides in that area early in the year until a rather large speed bump appeared on my road to financial security (see Resolution No. 5). As part of my resolution to exercise more, I vowed to take extraordinary actions to get the blood flowing more. I intended to take the stairs rather than the elevator. Parking at the back of the lot was going to be the norm rather than the exception. I had big plans to dust the cobwebs off my 10-speed bike (which I purchased in 1989 for $48 at Fleet Farm, used twice and moved to a safe and secure spot in the corner of my basement to await further word on being called back into action) and put into service. I fully intended to dig out my treadmill which was currently being used as a out of season clothes rack and shelving unit. I hang my head in shame as I confess that I continue to lift my sorry butt up the elevator shaft each morning, I live in the Midwest with godawful inclement winters and incredibly humid summers so I wouldn’t be caught dead running across an entire parking lot, and my 10-speed racer is no closer to the light of day than Osama bin Laden. The light at the end of the tunnel, however, is that I have moved the winter clothes off of my treadmill to make room for all the leftover Christmas wrap and bows as well as a goodly supply of magazines, catalogs and other "stuff" that I plan to go through as soon as I get some time. Is there any hope for me at all? That would lead us right into that getting organized thing. I don’t throw things out. I am fully aware, in my highly educated and somewhat logical mind, that I will never need or desire a product from that Fingerhut catalog, Publisher’s Clearinghouse will not be knocking on my door during the Superbowl, and I honestly will never fit my plump rear end (see Resolution No. 1) into anything that Frederick’s of Hollywood has so scantily displayed on their "real life" models. I keep those things just in case. I mean, what if I went on a safari in the rain forest and I needed a plastic rain hat that doubled as a mosquito net tent covering? Fingerhut to the rescue. What if I read my horoscope and it said that I was about to come into some money and I realized that my Publisher’s Clearinghouse sweepstakes could still be sent in? There my sweepstakes application sits in waiting on my treadmill. What if I suddenly got inspiration, willpower and a stomach bypass operation and I could actually dazzle my man with a dental floss g-string? Fredericks, here I come. You know, what if? And finally, Resolution No. 5 - the adult son living under the same roof as the mother who is dumb as a box of rocks and whose only real purpose in life is to open up her wallet and hand out an endless supply of greenbacks to her deserving son just because it is his birthright. My son actually taunted me early in 2001 and moved out. I cried for a week straight as a true milestone in my life had occurred. I was no longer needed. My baby had flown the coop. Somewhere at the end of that waterfall week, I realized that my house was still clean, the majority of the groceries that I had purchased the week before were still in-house, my son’s room became the office I always wanted and I actually had a couple dollars in my wallet. I knocked myself ‘cross the head and asked myself what was sad about this situation? Just as I was getting used to living in a sane and secure world, I received "the phone call." You know what I’m talking about. The "Mom, we got kicked out of our apartment for partying too much and is it okay if I just come home for a couple weeks and I’ll help out at home and pay rent when I can and be that son you always dreamed of" phone call. The maternal hormones kicked in. My eyes got wet. Send out the cavalry, My baby needed me. He moved home the next day. The first day went well. He stacked the dirty dishes, borrowed $10 to put gas in the car and only rolled his eyes at me three times. He’s still living at home. My computer is back in my bedroom. I have no food. My house is a mess. I’m one step short of the poor house and I need therapy. So as you can see, my 2001 New Year’s resolutions didn’t pan out too well for me. I’m sure there were lot of outside influences that waylaid my good intentions and set me on the crooked path of non-realized resolutions. It surely couldn’t be my own lack of inspiration to accomplish my lofty goals. No, sir. I believe with all my heart that these goals can be accomplished and just to prove it, I plan to start 2002 with the same set of resolutions. I’ll be spending my January 1st eating carrots, jogging a mile, counting my pennies, setting up a file for Fingerhut catalogs and packing my son’s bags. Stay tuned! Copyright
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