Less speaking. More talking.

LessTV. More books.

Less doubt. More action.

Less internal thoughts. More conversation.

10 resolitions. He looked at the five resolutions he had put down so far. It had taken him four hours. What was left to resolute? He windered. Looking at the jar stuffed full to the brim with other with the small square paper, most folded neatly, almost a surgical crease dividing the two sides. Some crumpled into lazy balls, perhaps the result of a more drunken effort to get the resolution inside the jar. He could still fold, or at least he thought he could. He decided he would twice. Once length wise and once horizontal, splitting the paper into four equal quadrants. A package that was unexpected, a mystery, revealed slowly not all at once. That was if he even got it finished. Surely there was one more he could come with. What is it? What could it be? You know it? He said to himself over and over – you know it. Willing it to show itself. To expose just a little bit too much, that he could grab and capture and write, and that they’ve hostess would take a moment to comprehend after she peeled back the four corners of his square. He glanced at his watch. 11:37pm that can’t be right. He looked at his phone 11:37pm. He had 23 minutes. You better hurry up, said the woman beside him. She was short and had brown hair and smelled like an orchard of cherry blossoms.