Lifestyle
change. Lifestyle. Change. I can’t really put my finger on it, but something
has always felt odd to me about this phrase. I don’t care for it. It feels
insincere. I have been dissecting the roots of all the words involved, as well
as the inferences and implications of the phrase as a whole, and I realized why
I am uncomfortable with this term… because this expression is the fat people equivalent
to masking something with a stupid fucking made up term. It reminds me of ridiculous office speak, or terms like “sanitation
engineer”.
Just by
definition this term feels disingenuous, “Lifestyle change” infers that my
previous course of actions were dictated by some set policy or routine. I
understand that technically any manner of existence is a lifestyle, but the term
has a societal based implication that some semblance of thought goes into ones
actions when those actions are classified as a “lifestyle”. Whether inspired by
religious, political, health, or financial terms, when a person refers to a
“lifestyle”, there is an inference of structure. I have spent the first 41
years of my life operating 100% from the id. Impulse, react. I am a god damn
cave man. Structure didn’t lead to me eating 5 microwave burritos for an after
school snack in 7th grade. This physique was not created by a well
thought out plan, but instead by a lifetime of gross negligent and a complete
disregard to common sense. I have body by chaos.
I am typing
this entry with a sandy vagina mentality. Being a person is dumb. The human
body is a fucking nightmare. I spend a lot of money every month just to
maintain this shit physique.\
- Fish oil for my heart, $20.
- B vitamin to maintain enough energy
just to get through my day, $10.
- Testosterone so my pecker and
muscles work, $25.
- Estrogen blockers so the
Testosterone replacement doesn’t give me delicious titties, $65.
- Metamucil so I can clear my system
and not die of colon cancer, $15.
- Apple Cider Vinegar to make sure my
digestive system works, $5.
That’s a
grand total of $140 a month to aid my body in doing what I think should be
basic functionalities that come with just being alive. Boners, energy, and
pooping.. those things are promised to us in the Bible and the Deceleration of
Independence. America and Jesus promised me these things, yet here I am paying
$140 a month on supplements just to MAINTAIN this shit body. Not improve it.
Not make it better. Just for maintenance purposes. Just to help my body perform
basic functions.
Calling what
I am doing a “lifestyle change” is definitely intellectually dishonest. A
better name for this process is “pleasure center deprivation”. Everything that
is good in life is being stolen from me, by me. This is some self-induced
sadism. I am eliminating all of my favorite things in life in an attempt to
make this life last longer, like some sort of deranged unhealthy behaviors
snuff film. I am watching myself kill all the things that made me happiest. If
eliminating these things doesn’t make my life last longer, it will absolutely
make it feel like it is lasting longer.
- Diet Coke, gone
- Peanut butter cups, gone
- Pizza, seriously, drastically restricted
- I am sore every day from working out
- My back hurts all the time
- Booze? Nope, none for me
- I am hungry all the time as I
retrain my bodies idea of “caloric need”
That list
comprises almost everything good about being alive. If I find out that the next
things I am losing are baseball, smelling flowers, and masturbating, I am going
to jump off the Vista Bridge.
I need to
get back in the positive zone. Going through
a pleasure center deprivation process is hard on my demeanor. Yesterday in
traffic, I was behind a car accident, and I actually said “Someone better be
dead because this is going to make me late”… I said this out loud, to no one. I
was alone in the car. To make this worse, I was on my way to the grocery store
with no time line for when I needed to return home. I was requiring an exchange
of life to make amends for me being mildly inconvenienced (in my air
conditioned Q5 with leather seats and listening to podcasts). This is what
caloric restriction and constantly being sore is doing to me. How is this a
thing? How have I become this much of a cunt? I need more moderation.
Between my
new job, which is requiring long hours as I get my feet under me a bit, and
having to drastically change my workout schedule, as well as being extra strict
with my calories, has me off balance. I need to add in some indulgences. So tonight
I will drink some gin and debate cutting out my estrogen blockers for awhile…
at least if I am going to be angry and
sore, I can ease my soul by doing so while sporting the best cans in the
county.
