Dec. 31 is as good a time as any for a brief self assessment, even if the idea of hitching life goals to the New Year’s bandwagon repels your alternative inclinations. These sort of published self-promises are horribly indulgent, but having recognized that, I can now charge forward with what I’ve come to understand as a socially acceptable level of narcissism. Because this one’s about me.

Since my track record with yearly goals isn’t the most pristine, I’ve decided to simplify simplify simplify. In the next year, here’s what I’m hoping to accomplish: to become a grownup and to not be found dead in a pile of cats.*

Become a grownup? What does that even mean? Is that a serious concern? Aren’t you allergic to cats? Why would you have so many?, asks no one.

Don’t worry.

Here are some brief guidelines I’ve set for myself in the spirit of attaining these admittedly lofty (but not impossible!) goals . Feel free to adapt any of the following to fit your individual needs. I can only assume these problems are universal: 

• Stop falling asleep in a pile of newspapers. You have a futon now, and there’s nothing cute about it.
• Stop buying condiments. The fridge is empty save a Brita Filter and ketchup you will never use. And under no circumstances do you need maple syrup “just in case.” Either buy pancake mix too or leave Jemima and buy real food like a grown-ass woman.
• Maybe you should vacuum more.
• Learn how your car works.
• Stop pretending that you don’t just continually buy packages of socks because you’re not entirely confident how bleach works with the lady socks that have  grey toes.
• Exercise?
• Move out of Pennsyltucky, N.J., so that maybe you have a chance at socializing. (re: very real cat danger)
• Maybe you should see a doctor.
• Figure out how that works.
• Drink less coffee.
• Forget it.
• Stop staying up late to watch marathon episodes of “Cheers.” Literally no excuse.

*Just to be clear, the cats would be alive in this scenario.