For a lot of people, the week between Christmas and New Year's is a pleasant respite from all the stress and anxiety that haunts them the other 51 weeks of the year. Many Americans have saved up so much vacation they're literally forced into taking off the last week, falling into the whole "use it or lose it" crunch. For them, this last week is basically a forced vacation, where the only real task at hand is to finish off a week's worth of turkey leftovers while walking around in brand-new robes and slippers.

Not for me. I find the last week of the year the most stressful of all. This is the time of year when we all take stock of our lives. It's when we look back at the year behind us, count up all the stuff we've done wrong, and then make resolutions about what we're going to do differently in the coming year.

Not me. First, I really don't like looking back at all the ways I've screwed up over the past year. Yes, I ate basically everything put in front of me, didn't exercise much at all, and drank more beer than bottled water. And yes, I'm pretty much in the same financial boat that I was last year at this time. In fact, if I had enough courage to rip open the envelope that tells me what's been happening with my 401K, I'd probably sit on the floor and cry like a small, tired, scared baby.

And let's face it, looking forward to the new year armed with new resolutions is, like me, getting a little old. I'm not getting in shape this year. I'm not writing the great American novel. Sure, I'll eat better, for three or four days, but then you'll find me at Mickey D's, cramming a couple burgers into my mouth, to be quickly followed up by two apple pies. (At two for a dollar and 99 cents for one, it would be stupid to get just one.)

And let's be honest. You aren't going to do any of those things either. You'll probably weigh about what you do now a year from now, and unless one of those lottery tickets pays off big time, you're not going to be much richer, either. If you do make it big, or get in shape, or even write the great American novel in the next year, keep it to yourself, OK? Nobody likes a braggart.

I just turn off the sound whenever I see one of those reports looking back on the year behind us. When they run through the major stories of the past year, they're probably going to focus quite a bit on the whole exhausting election campaign, something that is, thankfully, now behind us. I wouldn't be surprised if record numbers of Americans turned out at the polls in November just to make sure the whole thing was really, finally over.

They'll also look back on Jennifer Aniston's magazine interviews in which she vented about Brangelina. The fact that I spent any time at all hearing about any of them gives me heartburn. The fact that I now use the word "Brangelina" without a second thought makes me a little aggravated.

One of the year-end institutions I'd really like to see go away is the annual tally of dead folks. You'll know it's coming when you hear sad, wistful music from the TV and look up to see a photo montage of the recently departed. Don't get me wrong. I'm not upset that they're remembering those who have passed on. It's just putting them together, in some sort of creepy "Class of 2008" parade, as if they all decided to croak together, gives me the shivers.

And I really can't put a lot of stock in all those reports that tell you what to expect in the year ahead. If they knew what they were talking about, they would have told you last December to sell your house before the market dropped off, to mothball your car until gas prices dipped again, or better yet, to run out and punch your stockbroker before he skipped town.

Nope. I'm spending this New Year's basically ignoring the new year. I may not have accomplished anything last year, and might not this coming year. I'm going to stick with a single, simple resolution, one that shouldn't be too hard to keep: Keep off the dead guy list. If I make it, next year, just about this time, I'll buy some new slippers and a robe, take a week off and maybe work my way through some leftovers.

To find out more about Peter McKay, please visit www.creators.com.