I’m not feeling inspirational these days. I’m mad. I’m tired. And I just want to lay in my bed and watch new episodes of Doctor Who that aren’t even out yet.
Instead of sitting on my ass and watching stuff on Netflix I have somehow managed to pull myself up from my boot straps and started over. (What’s this? Time 2059 of starting over?) I have pissed and moaned to my friend that I would much rather lay on the ground eating cookies and watching something stupid than to have to put the work into getting myself fit. It’s just so much easier.
Which is the problem. It’s really easy for me to convince myself that I don’t want to eat healthy or work out. But somehow, I’ve managed to work out twice this week and I’m dead tired. And I’m sore as fuck.
But mostly, I’m mad at myself again for doing this. Again. My friend and I made a pact five years ago to lose weight together. We would be our support system for such things. Well. Here we both are again trying to get it together. Together we have worked our asses off, and then failed, worked our asses off, and then failed.
I would really like to stop this cycle. So here we are again, at the beginning and I hate having to lift my body parts because they are so heavy. But that’s the point, right? The point is so that I will have energy and a life, and maybe an added extra confidence somewhere down the line.
But starting from scratch AGAIN is the living worst.
Fuck exercise. Fuck eating right. I just want a goddamn poutine and a warm sweater and to watch Tangled.