Go read this at H2NH ePub now!
Let's address the elephant in the room: me.
Well, OK. I'm not that fat, but I am (medically) obese, and, more importantly, for the first time in my life I feel fat. It's time to do something about that.
My FATITUDE affects my ATTITUDE
I wake up feeling bad. That's no way to wake up. I only need six hours of sleep, after that I feel grouchy and uncooperative. And since I'm trying to cooperate with myself, I need to Zzzzzzzz. I need to be able to jump out of bed, healthy as a doornail*, without any weird ailments or headaches, stomachaches or ringings in the ears.
Lean, Mean, WRITING Machine
I eat and drink too much crap out of boredom or stress or just plain laziness, and that messes up my will to write. If I'm too full, I can't write with that white-hot fever of creative flame that I'm known for, and I've seen my productivity and get-to-itness decrease as my weight increased.
My fiancée is HOT
I have a pretty, sexy lady**, and she takes great care of herself, shedding the kilograms like nothing through sheer force of will (and hard work, eating right, and exercise). A lot of it is that she is very focused on her fun job, and that's what I want to be! The rest is that I want to walk down the street, arm in arm, both of us in amazing well-tailored fashions, and everybody will be even more jealous of us. We used to have that, until I bulked out. Whoops.
I have NO other flaws
I have spent the last ten years honing my mind into a pure engine of reason and creativity, and my morality and ethics are above reproach, and I am well-loved by all and sundry, and hardly an egomaniac at all. Yes, indeed: when it comes to humility, I'm the greatest.*** Now it's time to focus all that greatness on my encroaching waist-line.
Aside from the as-yet-still-mild health problems, my main issue is that I look terrible in pictures. I can still hide my rotundity with clothing, but that just leads to further problems.
All the cool kids wear skinny jeans and suits. While I don't subscribe to that particular style, I've gotten to the point where my comfortable flowery shirts are no longer a fashion choice and more of a concealer. It's annoying. And none of my suits fit. And I'm not wearing double-breasted suits, I promised my father on his death-bed.
All that's to say, I'm too American-looking, not to mention the classic fat nerd and computer-using tub of lard. Boo on me. My image is important. Let's fix it.
A lot of my wasted calories comes from soda, and coffee with sugar in, and beer. My point is I drink a lot of beverages, so it's the easiest place to cut out unnecessary energy. I hereby declare that I can have all the home-made decaf unsweetened tea I can drink, and all the black espresso caffeine delivery method I can safely hold. More on beer later. This will also save money, a secondary consideration.
I am addicted to Papa John's. I admit it. Ever since I came back to America from the jungle, the lure of getting people to bring food to my door has consumed me. Well, no more! I have had my last pizza pie!
Much like writing, diet is one of those areas that has built up a monstrous barrier of myths and self-serving lies that confound the layman. In the same sense as I broke through all those myths by consulting the professionals, I have acquired Food Rules: An Eater's Manual (Michael Pollan), the primary ethos of which is "Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants." I'll follow the less hippy-dippy of these rules, and I envision many soups and salads in my future. It is precisely as troublesome to cook healthily at home as it is to cook unhealthily. So let it happen.
Bud Light. That is all.
My fiancée gave me a great pair of pants, size 36, which I wore for a while before stress and laziness bulked me above my waist grade. My goal is to once again wear those for pleasure. Pretty easy, and it saves time obsessively weighing myself.
When I look AWESOME
Once I start getting stared at again as I walk down the street, I'll know I've arrived. This is going to be awesome!
Once I'm back to Size 36, I'll get the official uniform of the Creative**** tailored to my svelte form, and wear it at every opportunity to show off my regained youth and vigor. Everybody will be very impressed. There will be applause.
Lots of SEX
Well, yeah. Why else would I bother?
Get back to work.
Thanks for reading!
feel free to comment
*Jacob Marley was dead as a coffin nail, so I want to be as alive as a door nail.
**Important comma alert.
***Said the actress to the bishop. Bazing.