Page 226 of Crank (Crank 1)
the last few days in a
total haze. My system
had finally purged itself
of “go fast.” It was time
to shut down. I laid down
and surrendered myself
to the comfort of dreams.
Resolutions
I awoke the next morning, semirefreshed.
As I got myself ready for school,
I made the following resolutions:
• One week to the end of the quarter, grades slipping into
gutter, I would ask for some extra credit work.
• I would help out more around the house, show my parents
I was grateful for the many things they’d given me.
• I would write to my Grandma once a week, even if she
might not be sure who the letters were from.
• I would reconnect with old friends. And my dad.
• I would finish up the many projects I’d started while under
the influence—a macramé wall hanging, a portrait of John
Lennon, a song I’d written about my walk with the monster.
• I would never shoot up again. I would smoke less, toot
less, keep my bad habits manageable. (Notice I didn’t say
quit them.) I would also avoid sipping other people’s blood.
• I would go to Planned Parenthood and get on the pill. Making
love with Chase was awesome, and we didn’t need a baby
spoiling that.
The problem with resolutions
is they’re only as solid as the
person making them.
