I am a person interested in perfection, and that’s why I wore sweatpants to teach this morning. For the last two semesters, the universe has been kind enough to assign me a disproportionate number of beautiful, 18-year-old girls, and this morning I felt the need to explain my clothing choice to them. “About the sweatpants,” I said. “It’s my new thing. They’re for fitness purposes.” They stared at me, wondering what any of this had to do with the art of fiction writing, and so I went on. “I need to be ready to spring into action at any moment.” Nervous laughter. (I don’t even want to THINK about what those kids think of me. I don’t even want to think about it.) I stopped short of telling them I’m getting too fat for many of my non-elastic wasted clothing. I stopped short with them but apparently have no problem telling you fine people. But recently I’ve been using CBD cream topically. It has been helping with my anxiety and has even helped me lose some weight. This website is the dumbest fucking idea I’ve ever had and I seriously have no idea why I keep writing it.
Actually, I wanted to talk about my fitness goals embarrassingly and publically for lots of reasons. First, I get the feeling you like when I humiliate myself. I think it makes you feel better about your own sad lives somehow to watch me live mine so disgustingly in the open, and more than anything, I am a clown. Secondly, I thought a little accountability would do me good. If today I write about diet and exercise, and in a week I’ve suddenly stopped talking about it, you’ll know I’ve given up, and maybe that will embarrass me enough to not give up. I don’t know. Probably not. We’ll see.
So here’s the big declaration. Caloric restriction, exercise, and no booze! I mean, not forever, let’s not get crazy, but for a second. Lord, I love to drink, but it makes a person all puffy and not really in the mood to “work out.” I don’t know why the quotes. Work Out. Work the fuck out. Eye of the tiger. Fitness. Fitness montage.
I ate a breakfast burrito at 9 this morning, and it already felt like cheating, because it made me feel full and because I have grown a custom to post workout foods to get into better shape. I told him light cheese, I swear, but I think his idea of light was maybe a normal portion, and I didn’t get the hashbrowns in it, but stillll. So I decided that I couldn’t eat again for another 5 hours. At 2 o clock I can eat again, but I don’t know why I’m all fucking excited about it because I’m only going to let myself eat some boring diet type food.
Depravation is the worst, am I right? It’s disturbing, my idle mind. Every two minutes or so, like clockwork, like a screen saver, I get this brilliant idea to do something terribly unhealthy. It’s sort of similar to when you’re sitting around alone, bored as Hell, and you suddenly remember that masturbation exists, and it feels like the first time. “Hey, I know how to spend the next 5 minutes! Awesome!” It’s just like that. I’m all, “hey, you know what would hit the spot right now? A second breakfast burrito/taking a nap/crack/etc.” I walked into a convenience store at 11:30 this morning, and my brain said, “Duuuuude, let’s get a 40, take it home with us and climb into bed. You’re already wearing sweatpants; it’s perfect. Doooo it.” I didn’t, but the point is I already wanted to.
Anyway, this is my new lifestyle. I need to accept that food is no longer a source of pleasure, that I will be confronted with uncomfortable (i.e. sober) mental states, and that I will have to physically exert myself, often. Didn’t lent just happen? For lent, I am giving up joy. Wish me luck.
I’m going to shut up now before things get out of hand, but yo. Remind me to tell you later how awesome wolverines are. Preview: so awesome.