At the start of each New Year, people speak of resolutions with just the right degree of I-really-shall-try-but-know-I-won’t-make-it-ness. And because misery loves company, this attitude is quickly adopted by everyone close to them and three weeks into the new year , I bet you Ugx 5,000 that they shall get together to share their failures merrily over beer and pork. Yes, only Ugx 5,000 I bet you. I resolve to not waste shillings.
“Gwe guy, that resolution wasn’t going to work!”, Ssemwogerere will say happily as he downs his fourth beer.
“At least you, you tried, banange”, Byabazaire will console as she knocks back her third.
And so on and so forth.
I begun to respect this resolution revolution after I quit smoking a couple of years ago. If I could go back in time to when I had my last cigarette and naively resolved not to have another, I’m quite sure I could not make it. The knowledge of all the willpower I would have to draw from my body, mind and soul would paralyse me forever into a state of eventual lung cancer.
But I made it. So I got to work on less traumatizing resolutions of the fun variety. Drink more water (great for the skin); meditate (very annoying sport); do Yoga every day (gives you a HOT body); quit my job (very stupid thing to do with our unemployment rate but I learned I was as broke self-employed as I was when I was employed); travel more (hiking’s a bitch but ‘ama keep at it).
You will notice on this list that there are no adult desires like buying a nice car, a plot of land and what have you. That’s my fault. I’m not wired right so I leave those serious things to financially developmentally people. I’ll just give myself one more year to be lazy about it.
But not when I’m working. When I work, I make sure I’m erm…productive