Thursday, December 30, 2004

I hereby

I never make New Year's Resolutions. Do you? If so, what? Tell!

15 comments:

Anonymous said...

don't make any either - cuz I hate to fail

Happy New Year from across the sea (where it is raining like hell - but at least it is warm rain)

Sherry

Josh Hanson said...

I don't usually, but what with a move happening at the beginning of the year and all, I've decided to make a conscious effort to get out of the house and make friends, with real people, instead of feeling like a social moron.

Eduardo C. Corral said...

I have only one resolution this year: I will learn to play poker.

Paul said...

It's funny: I want to learn to play poker, too.

Annette in Alaska said...

I WILL visit High Lonesome Wells this year.

(I guess it makes more sense if you know my last name is Wells.)

Anyway, I've got the plan mapped out, I just have to use a little restraint to keep it simple. However, if it gets out of hand the way I predict in my post...

I'll send you a post card.

Wish me luck.

Kelli Russell Agodon - Book of Kells said...

Happy Almost New Year to you Paul!

My resolutions--

Drink 8 glasses of water a day
Go for more walks
Make decisions out of compassion


My dad's resolution was always "I will not throw rocks at whales." That's always a good one too.

All the best in 2005!

Anonymous said...

No resolutions. Instead, your horoscope. You had to be a Pices? (sigh) I knew there was a reason for my crush on you a while back.

Happy new year, Paul. And thanks for the crush. It was fun. I hadn't felt that giddy, that light-hearted in years.

And now, your horoscope, sir:

A study at McGill University concluded that moms and dads who launch screaming fights in front of their kids may actually be helping them. Listening to their parents yelling often makes children more imaginative because it forces them into a fantasy world to escape. Can you think of similar reversals in your own life, Pisces--difficult events that have ultimately served you? The coming year will be an ideal time to redeem these gifts from the past. Be constantly on the lookout for ways you can use old traumas and setbacks as sources of inspirational power.

Paul said...

You! Where've you been, stranger? I've missed you. It's been frightfully dull ever since you retreated back into the ether.

So what's new, pussycat?

;)

Anonymous said...

I feared I'd worn out my welcome here so I did retreat into the ether, guilty as charged of cluttering your blog with my poems. (smile)

You're obviously not in Times Square to watch the ball drop, and I'm guessing you're not swinging from a chandelier while guzzling from a bottle of Dom, so how are you ringing in the new year, Paul?

You really don't make any resolutions? Not even secretly? I stopped making resolutions years ago when it became obvious that I just wasn't ever going to keep them. They were always the same: Exercise more, eat less, lose 10 lbs, blah blah blah. The year I stopped making resolutions was the year I lost those 10 lbs and kept them off, started exercising and eating right. This year, I'm not making any resolutions, but I would like to at least try to be a bit less selfish and attempt to give something back, even if it's a small gesture, something as simple, as easy as donating blood on a regular basis.

Paul said...

No worn welcome at all. Good to see you back.

I'm hardly ringing at all. Quiet night with a book, the sound of illegal intermittent fireworks in the distance.

Nope, no resolutions. Maybe I should? ;)

Anonymous said...

What book kept you company this evening?

Paul said...

Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

;)

Unknown said...

One new years several years ago, we wrote down our resolutions and threw them into a hat. I was so glad when I drew out the blank one.

Anonymous said...

Here's a poem for the new year, crush.

To the Man Who Drives Past

She drifts;
not like snow in wind,
not a piling up, an accumulation
of what will never last—
roll down your window and breathe
in the scent of green, still pale. She drifts
on the curb, back and forth, a ghost-
girl. There is no substance to her; she is not connected
to the flesh. Her slow yet restless movement
catches your eye—how best to modify that organ? Lazy,
weary, lack-lust?—as you drive past,
trying your best to control the vehicle, swerving
so as not to splash her with slush. She drifts,
the motion more like a seed puff riding a warm air current
that alights like a sparrow in your hair.
If you neglect to brush it out, a milkweed
will spring from your head and monarchs will flit
there and lay their eggs. She drifts,
and you drift too, letting the disappearing road pull
you toward the yellow. Don’t say it will never
last. Don’t speak of the sky’s limitations;
that blue is vast. If it ends, it’s only because you say so.
Besides, she’s not listening. So, drift.
And drift and drift. Lick your lips. You know
the taste of her sweat because you created it.
When she begins to sing, you sing along
to the sad love song you wrote long ago.

Paul said...

Ah, this is nice. Call and response.