Although I understand the scorn many of my betters hold for resolutions, I cling desperately to the notion that any possible excuse for self-improvement is worth pursuing. In other words, as usual, I will make a few promises on this first day of the new year. And as usual, I will try to keep those promises. And as always I will fail.

But still. Why not? I have two overriding issues that have been weighing on my mind, even though my mind isn’t exactly designed for weight bearing. One is clutter. I look around my house and see nothing but. My resolution is to do something about it. I think that’s vague enough to include anything I get around to doing in the next twelve months. Maybe I’ll start, uh, tomorrow.

And the other thing is time management. I know I can do better. I’ve already started doing better, because I’ve had to. The last few weeks I’ve been making longer and more elaborate to-do lists, and then actually getting to the tasks on the lists. A list doesn’t mean much unless it leads to action.

With better organization, I know I can get my job done without working more hours each day. That doesn’t mean I’ll stop at 6 pm every night, but that would be my goal, most of the time at least. Earlier when necessary, because what good does it do me to work and work and leave no time for healthier pursuits, like art and culture and family and friends? And baseball and telenovelas and The Amazing Race 6 and Survivor: Palau.

So that’s it. Modest, low-pressure goals with a fair chance of success. Of course, I’ll also try to eat better and spend less and get out more and blah blah blah. All of this is a long-term, ongoing project. I make those resolutions about thirty times a month, so they lose a little impact, even on the first day of the new year. They’re never completely out of my mind, though, and that’s a good thing.