Today I carried a large cooler that wasn’t even half full about 75 yards, partially uphill. I made it. Barely. When I got back to the car, I put the cooler down so I could open the hatch of my car, and between hard breaths I realized…Geeze, Justin. You have really let yourself go. But do I really care?
If I cared, I would stick with my workout and diet plan. And I do not. If I really cared, I would make lifestyle changes to accommodate my new routine. And I have not. I need to get in shape and drop about 30 pounds, but I don’t do it. I am very lazy and I simply just don’t care. In fact, I told my boss last week that I could almost give up fast food except Burger King. I will give Burger King up on one of 3 occasions. 1) I have a heart attack 2) I hit the 300 pound mark or 3) Erin threatens to divorce me if I don’t stop eating Burger King. With the exception of the heart attack, which probably won’t hit for another 15 years, I don’t see any of those things happening anytime soon. I’m getting fatter and more out of shape and I simply do…not…care. I’m American, deal with it.
Sometimes I hate being an American. I hate referring to myself by my country of origin…Always.
It’s all a part of having those grown up responsibilities and what one’s priorities are. Money is not a priority in my life as I fully believe God will make sure that I have everything I need, and apparently neither is my health. If it’s not God’s time for me to die, then I’m not going to die and in many instances, mega super healthy people still die from physical issues that are a big threat to the obese. I try to pretend the American emphasis on outer appearance doesn’t effect me, but it does. I am my mother’s son. I guess it’s time to take it seriously.
Completely out of context, but you get the idea:
Enjoy today’s haiku:
I, six fish later
have decided that I am
What family says*
*A spoiled city boy…And I’m fine with that :-)