How many consecutive years of my adult life can I resolve to get organized, manage my time better, exercise regularly, or read more books without eventually billing myself as an underachiever? After careful consideration and a good wallow in the depths of depression, I believe the un-resolution - a statement of what I will not do - best suits my given talents and level of commitment and most certainly offers ample chances for success; particularly since it only depends on inertia.
I will not eat possum, pigs' feet, beef tongue, or scrambled brains no matter how bad the economy gets.
I will not yell at my husband, unless he deserves it. I will not butt in and tell him how to hang lights on the Christmas tree, boil an egg, assemble a trampoline, or how to do anything else, unless I clearly know how to do it better than him.
I will not feel compelled to justify spending a whole Saturday lounging in my pajamas. I will not waste away too many cherished weekends sitting around in my PJs.
I will not say simply because I'm afraid of what will happen if I say 'Yes.' I will not say 'Yes' out of obligation or guilt.
I will not avoid chaos.
I will not get another pet of any kind. This includes pitiful, abandoned kittens, furry rodents with pink noses, and purple Easter chicks. I will not look in my children's faces when they beg, 'Please, Mama, can we keep it? It's one of God's creatures.'
I will not give up chocolate for lent.
I will not believe it when the evening news anchor says the world is ending. I will not get bailed out by congress.
I will not gripe about a BCS playoff system.
I will not overlook the opportunity to give another person a compliment.
I will not bring anything new into my house without getting rid of something old. I will not believe my kids' plea of, But we do play with that, when I'm black-bagging toys.
I will not cry if our X-Box finally wears out and breaks.
I will not run away and join the circus.
I will not repeat myself. Okay, I will not repeat myself more than once.
I will not teach my children to worry about the things they can't control. I will not allow them to make excuses for not controlling the things they can.
I will not challenge the no-one-goes-until-the-good-Lord-calls-her theory by jumping out of a plane, running with the bulls, climbing Mt. Everest, competing in the Iditarod, rafting the Amazon River, diving with Great White sharks, or walking the yellow line on the highway.
I will not give up on the dream of a tidy house. I will not quit nagging the people who live with me to help me fulfill my dream.
I will not be too busy to enjoy a day at the beach, talk to my husband, play a board game with my kids, chat on the phone with a friend, reconcil e with an enemy, or submerge myself in a long, hot bubble bath.
I will not be above pouting when things don't go my way.
I will not condemn laziness in proper proportions.
I will not under-eat.
I will not wear a bikini, regardless of how many women my husband assures me I would look better than.
I will not start smoking.
I will not (couldn't possibly) get more disorganized, exercise less often, read fewer books, or manage my time worse.
But you know what they say - never say never.
(Lucy Adams is a syndicated columnist, freelance writer, and author of If Mama Don't Laugh, It Ain't Funny. She lives in Thomson. Lucy invites readers to e-mail her at lucybgoosey@aol.com and visit her web site, www.IfMama.com.)
