Resolutions. I think that the idea of them is okay. You resolve to be kinder, try something new, lose weight. But a promise to yourself given when you're on your seventh glass of wine and that you will only vaguely remember a few times during the year is pretty silly.
You want to lose weight because that's what people vow to do on New Years Eve. It's why gyms love you. You'll buy a membership and never go. First strike.
You want to be closer to your family. Until you actually do make that call to your mother's house and she asks you why you aren't married yet and when she'll have some grandchildren running around and your father gets on the line and asks you why you still can't hold down a steady job. And you're reminded why you moved so far away from them in the first place. Strike two.
You resolve to travel. Until the reality of life kicks you in the gut and tells you that between your gambling problems, your credit card bills, and your lack of vacation days, the only place you will be going is to the bankruptcy lawyer. Strike three.
You start to tell yourself that the resolutions you've made are silly, all of them, and unrealistic as you pull up to the Wendy's drive-through window and pay for your Big Bacon Classic.