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Goals are important

So, the other day I came across a list of New Years' Resolutions for 2005. This is interesting for a number of reasons that I can't really go into right now. I thought it might be worth a butcher's, at least to see how I've stacked up since then.

Quit smoking (I don’t smoke, but if I want others to quit I guess I have to lead by example).

Successful! It was a struggle, but I managed to quit smoking in January 2005.

Accidentally win the Nobel Prize for Literature.

Alas, the Nobel Prize remains beyond my grasp, although by never getting around to writing those books, I can at least say that any awards would definitely be accidents.

Trap spammers in their secret caves in Afghanistan, then take ‘em out with laughing gas and lock them in a room somewhere without Internet access… forever.

I suspect I'll be hearing from my lawyer if I spread rumours about alleged illegal activity I've allegedly performed.

Get a pay raise. [Looks into the distance, hears muffled Russian cursing] You’d better make that two.

Well, I got a new job, which was a payrise, then another new job, which wasn't (but was in a better industry). So we can check that one off, too.

Resist any temptation to explain the poor joke used above.

What?

Accidentally lose twenty kilos ("honey, did you check behind the fridge?").

Actually, I did lose twenty kilos. But it wasn't an accident. And I've still a long way to go.

Finish Gormenghast (I’ve got about thirty pages of Titus Alone left to go), and not let my love for the first book be diminished by the idiocy of the third.

I don't even know where Gormenghast actually is, let alone how it ends. Actually, I'm reading half a dozen books concurrently right now, so Gormenghast evidently featured significantly more highly on my list of priorities than it does now.

Stop describing everything I dislike as “idiotic". Just most things should do it.

I've gotten pretty good with this, actually. Maybe I've grown up. Maybe I'm just more subtle. Maybe my intellect has lowered.

Finally send those bloody mix CDs I promised Nick many moons ago.

Oh, heck. Does Nick still live in the same flat? Does anyone else remember him? I have no current contact details.

Marry Elle McPherson.

Alas, she still remains alluringly beyond reach.

Single-handedly save the world from alien invasion.

I considered it, but I wasn't in the mood at the time, so Will Smith did it for me.

And most importantly, buy more socks.

Successful! No-one can accuse me of lacking socks. Well, they'd better not.

So, that's 2004. Obviously I'll have to be more realistic in 2007. How does this sound?

  • Needlessly quit smoking again, just to be a prick.
  • Write that book. Heck, even manage to write the second chapter. Write more in general.
  • Code more. The weblog was a good start.
  • Lose another 20 kilos. Steadfastly refuse to check behind the fridge.
  • Get a payrise. A good one, so I can buy more stuff. Then don't buy more stuff, so I've actually saved some money.
  • Nick's CD. If he still lives there. Maybe throw in some Sinatra in case he's moved out and been replaced by some nice blue-rinser.
  • Be less self-absorbed, but also less self-affacing. Try to cultivate exactly the right level of mindless self-preoccupation appropriate to a member of my generation, and no more or less.
  • Give up on Elle McPherson. Really. I mean, gosh, kid, she'll be a grandmother first ...

Apart from the payrise, this list actually looks achievable ...

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