I’ve never been much of one for making New Year’s resolutions for myself (except for the occasional “This year, I am not going to let the fact that people–in general, as a whole, as individuals, with a handful of exceptions–who deserve my loathing make my year suck quite as bad as last year”). I’ve always been more for gradual self-improvement whenever convenient, necessary, or otherwise attempt-able.
As part of this, I have recently been trying to accomplish a few personal changes:
(1) Allow/force self to be more extroverted/outgoing.
(2) Allow self to be more off-the-wall and uncensored in the making of levity and humor.
(3) Maintain (and increase if possible) personal levels of unrestrained honesty when dealing with others.
(4) Get back into shape, you lazy unhealthy fuck.
For the most part, I have been making strong advances toward these goals (with the exception of #4). I have noticed that by employing these strategies rather sporadically, I am beginning to think and behave in a manner that might be perceived as a bit schizophrenic. I began to devise new approaches to achieve my goals without regressing into a lovable creepy psychotic, but then I decided not to bother. My New Year’s resolution–primarily only regarded as such due to the timing–is to wallow in my own crazy. So if I have recently done or will soon do anything that pisses you off, blame it on the New Year.