Resolution

Seven days in, and his resolution was already over. He sat on the couch and drank his coffee. Outside the wind howled as it picked up snow and moved it around. The sun was well on its way toward the horizon in the southwest.

All he had to do was pick up the phone and call someone. It wouldn’t be that hard. Surely someone would spend a little time with him. His therapist told him just an hour was all he needed. Just start reconnecting with people. He said he would. New year and all, what better time to make a new beginning.

But he knew no one wanted to talk to him, much less spend time with him. His voice grated on even his own ears. He had nothing interesting to say and made everyone around him uncomfortable. When he did speak, he could tell that he offended others, or sounded stupid. Whatever false confidence he had had when he made his resolution was gone, evaporated like rain on a hot summer afternoon.

The wind gusted once more, as if to remind him how far away summer really was. The voice of his therapist echoed through his mind, telling him it wasn’t too late, that he could still get back to his resolution. But he knew better; there was no one to call, no one to talk to.

Maybe he should have made an easier resolution. Perhaps to eat healthier. Or drink less caffeine. Resolutions were silly anyway. And what did it matter if he broke one? Besides, he liked staying at home. Things were comfortable here. He didn’t have to talk or worry what people thought of him. He could just do what he liked. Nothing was expected of him.

The phone rang, and, wondering what to do, he just stared at it. After a few rings, it stopped, and he began to breathe again. Probably just a telemarketer.

Looking into his empty mug, he was glad he hadn’t resolved to drink less coffee.

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