Concurrent New Year’s Resolutions from Birth to Death

We need to go to the gym, be balls of motion. Kinetic energy charged like Gambit’s cards, explosive. We need water, the translucent azure of 70% of your body bottled,
your new best friend. No more dillydallying with Mr. Pibb or Dr. Pepper. No more shilly-shallying with their bubbly countenances, their effervescence. We need rest, the sweet entombment of a pitch sleep. 8 glorious hours, unconscious and uncut, of rollicking, rolling, row-row-row-your-boat-lives that are but a dream-siestas. Like those of hombres slunk down covered in sombreros. We need to rape and pillage libraries barbarous. Double-fisting Fante and Vonnegut, chugging Plath not Plato while pounding down Ezra. We need to get out of debt with others and ourselves. Payoff the bottom feeders at the shallow end of the phone line. Extract our cancerous student loans from the marrow of our bones before they turn malignant. We need change, not as a platform but for a twenty. Shit, we need money. We need pro-active action, to get off our asses and just go, go, go ‘til we’re gone.