I used to make resolutions. I suppose it was an antidote to the let-down that was New Year’s Eve; that night where I would have the best party ever, meet someone exciting, kiss the boy I’d fancied all year long, and wake feeling exhilarated and full of anticipation. I would make all sorts of plans, changes, convictions for the following 12 months.
That was before jaded reality set in. Those parties were always a let-down; he wouldn’t show, someone rubbish would try his luck, or we’d get chucked out of the pub for having no ID. New Years Eve became a symbol of regret for everything I’d not achieved the precious year.