America and God have set my expectations

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 7^th 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.