As I write, 2014 is still that proverbial blank page to be filled in, and my last chance to attack 2013 as a writer is also very open.
This morning, around 4 am – a time when I usually either first get up or go to sleep – I started thinking about my resolutions, and how irresolute I’ve been all year, and for many years now.
During an insomniac’s trip to the bathroom, I flipped open a page from my book, “All That Twitters is not Goldberg: Truthful Humor from a Vindicated Columnist” and found my list of resolutions for 2008. To my chagrin, if not surprise, I found that many of those same resolutions are still unfulfilled today. Consistency in this respect is not such a good thing.