You say you want a resolution

Many of us have love/hate relationships with resolutions. They make us better people, we can feel more accomplished, and also like we want to eat all the cookies in the pantry. I, along with the rest of the universe, tried to think up some things to change about myself on January first. If I could stick with my list, by the end of the year I'd be a weight-lifting, wheatgrass-drinking supermodel! Life would be beautiful--after I just finish off that last pint of ice cream and watch an episode or two of Gilmore Girls.
Mainly though, I resolved to make more resolutions. But the last four months, I've had that itching thought to just go through some uncomfortable change, since that builds character and whatnot. My character has felt no less built after my New Year's resolutions, but that's what my parents always tell me, coincidentally, after handing me a pair of rubber gloves and a sponge.
So begins my goal for the month of May: to not be a shopping maniac. It's ironic to be an advocate of detachment and simple-mindedness, only to grab my paycheck, run into a store, go "whee, money!" and proceed to buy a 5th pair of feather earrings and spiky shoes that will tussle in the back of my closet. I believe I've scared multiple cashiers by now, with the crazed "must. buy. now" look, where my eyes turn into the size of golf balls.
I'd normally logic my way out of feeling bad; the side of me that needs ten pairs of jeans says, "hey. This is the only time in your life that you'll practically have a full time job, but no bills to pay, no groceries to get, and no kids who will just die if they don't get that Barbie/Ken combo." Apparently the fact that college textbooks might as well be made of gold, has no meaning to me. "College?" ten-pairs-of-jeans girl says, "that's lifetimes away!" The trouble with time, however, is that it has this pesky habit of not freezing, and what was once lifetimes away, is now a month. And somehow I doubt that striding into class in leopard print pants will make the professor no less impressed if my books were bought in an alternate universe. One where I had an endless supply of money.
In order to only be a semi-broke college student, rather than a totally broke one, I will limit my purchases to yoga classes, movie tickets, food, and gifts. It can be done; at Shoshoni, I went an entire two weeks without throwing money at a cashier, and it was a delightfully freeing feeling, minus the pervading headache that came more from lack of caffeine than anything. But I'm not giving up coffee just yet--that's for the more experienced resolvers of sorts.