When Pope Gregory XIII introduced his calendar, he also subjected humanity to be enslaved to each year shedding their skin for a new persona with a plethora of ephemeral traits. A chance to be reborn, even if only until February, as one should want to be.

With that glorious opportunity in mind, I plan to entire alter myself and sculpt myself into an infinitely better version of myself.

I vow to exercise longer and harder every day, as if my schedule will somehow, by the magic of the New Year, expand to allow more time devoted for my own personal use.

I will eat healthier and less, as if my appetite will somehow get smaller after subjecting myself to the two most over-indulgent months of the year, and as if I actually have the ability and self-discipline to reject another cookie or twelve.

I will be nicer to the people around me, as if assuming an unnatural personality for the benefit of others wouldn’t perpetuate both an inflated and confusing overall opinion of me, and as if lying to others by hiding myself isn’t a psychological torment bound to be torturous and detrimental to my own well-being regardless of the good intentions.

I will do better in school, as if my current efforts aren’t accurate representations of my ability, and the result of bountiful work and diligence accompanied by a number of hours of sleep that I can jokingly and sarcastically count on two hands.

I will watch less television, as if the natural affinity to escapism isn’t healthily accommodated by a moderately proportioned amount of humorous and enjoyable shows and movies, helping indirectly to disconnect from the depressing, arduous, endless tale of reality through which we must trudge every day.

I will learn to crochet.

I will get more sleep, as if the amount of sleep I get on a nightly basis isn’t already maximized by careful planning of all necessary tasks to be done, from school work to personal agendas.

I will spend less time with technology, as if our world isn’t rapidly being consumed by the self-perpetuating and omnipotent hand of data, beginning to blur the line between luxury and necessity, beginning to draw humanity into an existence unprecedented for which we are dismally prepared.

Oh, and yes, I will stop operating under the absurd notion that a nearly arbitrary selection of time represented by abstract concepts of days, weeks and months should in any shape or form dictate how I perceive myself and if, when, or why I should make large and numerous immediate changes to my self-being. I will stop pretending like the shift from December 31^st to January 1^st is temporally any different than the shift from September 20^th to September 21^st, and stop basing any life-altering decisions that will ultimately be eroded by a very minimal exposure to time on ridiculous, irrational trends that appear to end up perpetuating more self-criticism than overall development. Why is this even a thing? Sure, the beginning of the New Year might have an impact on actual world events, but even the fiscal year didn’t want to partake in this obnoxious trend. Why should a new year merit any change, or be an excuse to develop your own self? What kind of pseudo-scientific, inconvenient, unnecessary, over-viral joke is that?

If you need to start working out, start working out. If you need to eat healthier, eat healthier. If you need to find the motivation to make a change, please don’t look to the year-themed glasses that should have ended after 2009 for it.

Good change tends to happen over time, not overnight.

My New Year’s resolution is to stop writing trash articles.