That unfortunate man (above) is my latest acquisition for my "bad painting" collection. I know; it's sort of trendy circa 1989 to collect bad art, but I'm an artist and I can do whatever I want. In any event, this poor wonker looks like he's got syphilis and bug bites and a co-worker suggested he looks like he's stuck in the outhouse, so he's got all KINDS of trouble. My year hasn't been that bad...
So, do I really make resolutions? Do I keep those resolutions that I make? I try.
For the umpteenth million time, I resolve to make more money. Not loads more, just MORE whatever that is. (Rule #1: Set the bar realistically low, then you can actually accomplish the goal. Like if I resolve to generate a million zillion dollars this upcoming year, I expect I'll fail. But if I vow to make a few measly thousand dollars more than this waning year, I have a good chance of success. That's the name of the game).
But ouch! that shows where my values lie, if money is Numero Uno resolution. Hmm... how about being nicer and more compassionate to my fellow (thoroughly awful, despicable, gun-toting) men and women kinds? (Whoa! What did I just say about realistic, achievable goals?)
Okay, maybe I'll settle for the hackneyed (but do-able) ideal of loosing a few of those jiggly pounds and maybe drinking a tad less at social functions? THAT I think I can manage...
That's enough for me! I'm going downstairs and join my beloved Bob for a glass of some kind of bubbly and what looks to be a really nice meal. To hell with resolutions tonight!
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