This week passed like
it was nothing. I didn't even realized that I already need to write another
blog entry. I promised myself that I'd write every week as a start, but it
hasn't even been a month and I'm already getting too lazy.
Last Monday, I saw myself on the
mirror. I took the chance, and then I tried looking at it longer than usual.
There wasn't really much to anticipate; all I saw was a twenty-six-year-old
unhealthy jobless man, who looked shorter than five foot five; his skin's pale
white from staying indoors for too long; his messy brown hair has already
reached his neck and below his eyes, and it looked like it didn't care if it
wasn't combed; he's got a dark dead eyes, that used to be a lighter shade of
brown like his mom's; and of course, he looks so puny, with his arms, legs and
belly that has no muscle but soft pig fats. And for chrissake! (Yeah, I know) I'm only turning nineteen in two months yet I
looked like a wimpy old man.
Looking at the disaster on the mirror gave
me uh... what do you call this, resolution? Fighting spirit? Audacity,
conviction, or confidence? Whatever it was, this isn't my first language,
and I can't get the word right. But anyway, I got a bit of that, and then I
started exercising to burn at least some of my fats. I'd worry about getting
healthy and having some muscles when I got rid of it. I do it like, thirty
minutes or more in a day. Every session makes my body hurt like hell; I feel
like staying in bed forever. It’s so hard to bend my knees, and every joint of
my bones doesn’t feel like carrying anything heavier than toothbrush ever again.
Everything sucked so badly and kicking
the wall wasn’t a good idea to express irritation. I got so pissed off when
doing all these things that opposed my will. For some reasons, when I do some
work, I get so mad at myself that I wanted to throw whatever I’m doing. It
happened so much when doing school works, which was my least priority, and I
almost failed high school. But this time, I have to get a hold of myself. I’ll
just probably listen to some Vocaloid songs to endure all those pissed off
feeling until I get used to it.
Just
when everything was too good to be true, there were books, and it’s the most
evil thing I know. I just started reading this certain fantasy novel last Thursday;
time passed by, and so did temptation. It won't let me stop reading until I
finally forgot to exercise. Alas, how many days? Three, right… but that's not
all. I did exactly the same thing the next day. Good thing I'm already done
with the book. I just hope that I won't break my routine next week, and
forever.
There it was, I'm probably moving
slowly but I think I'm making some good adjustments. I feel like a person in
rehab; doing exercises, writing a blog, and eating cereals for some months
until I’m completely healed and after that, I’m good to go.
I just hope that the cursed number three will
let me pass and do this blog until I found my way.
