Strategic Life Improvement Plan

Setting New Year’s Resolutions is so cliché.  But I like to do that, so I’m renaming it so it won’t seem so gay.

I’m calling it my  Strategic Life Improvement Plan.

I promise to go to more obscure suburbs on the ShittyRail train network  and walk around to see how long it takes before I get rolled.  I will then document those times in a spreadsheet and plot it in graph form so I can quantitatively determine which are the worst suburbs in Sydney for getting your shit stolen.

I promise to buy more metal shirts, because I have to admit to myself that they are the only thing I truly feel comfortable in.  Sure, wearing band shirts makes me a poseur douchebag but  that’s just who I am.  I have to be myself. By being a poseur.  It’s complicated but it works.

I promise to stop eating chocolate every day.  I don’t really have to, but I want to see how fucking crazy I get.  I might dye my hair orange and become a surrealist artist squatting in a warehouse in Redfern nursing some schizofrenia and a heroin addiction if I hold out long enough.

I promise to stop procrastinating and do all my work as it comes in – no interwebs until I’m done, no missing deadlines for assignments, no staying back at work in a mess.  I should start doing that now, but I can’t be arsed, so I’ll do it next year.    Oh, spider – obvious joke is obvious.

Most importantly, I promise to become more open-minded and go on some spiritual quest whereby I start to genuinely believe in all the stupid dopey shit everyone else thinks is real.  Like angels and auras and whatever.  I want to tap into my imaginary non-existent psychic powers. I want the Holy Spirit to make me swallow my tongue and shit myself in spasms. I want to be barred from a place of worship once a month.  I want to find water by walking around blindfolded, in a purple robe, holding a dead frog out in front of me. Everyone else enjoys that.  And they’re damn sure about it too.  If someone comes up with a good argument against one of my opinions, I start to lose my shit and think I’m wrong – for the 5 seconds it takes to check what they’re saying and realise they’re talking out of their arse.  Sometimes I don’t even know what to believe.  Other people can believe in faeries and goddamn indigo children and never, EVER does it occur to them that it’s all a load of wank.  I want that.  Not only do I want to be arrogantly sure of what I believe, but I want it to be enchanting, awe-inspiring, and above all, completely irrational.

I better come back to this at the end of next year and review whether I’ve kept my promises.  That’s if the internets still exist in another 12 months.