The past year has been one of discovery for me. I've discovered that no amount of training will bring my headlights back to high beams; no amount of alcohol can make Donald Trump look sexy (whether I consume it or he does - it won't matter).
It's easier to lose your mind than to lose blib; and it's easier to relax and enjoy life without the responsibility of an adult relationship. There are skeptics out there that believe I'm sneaking into the proverbial fridge getting some "I can't believe it's not butter" action in the middle of the night.
Well let me help you out here. I guarantee the butter lid is on, however, if you are one to play in the stock market - you may have noticed the spike in Duracell over the past 9 months. Look at that, a new discovery - I have no boundaries. I am sooooo going to have the walking into school naked dream tonight after unleashing that bit of information.
Anywhooooo, after 18 months of training I was not getting any new results. So I had to ask myself why I endure the rigorous workouts and the tedious daily calorie counting. Okay, so I only count until the first glass of wine jumps in my hand. What? Math is hard enough already. Like I'm going to cramp a muscle in my brain to satisfy my calorie curiosity?
So what I'm getting at is the following. I quit. Yeah I said it. I quit working out for three weeks. It was liberating. I was free, yes free. This was a wonderful feeling until yesterday when I was blow drying my hair. I suddenly had to disrobe due to the humidity and heat in the room. Then moments later the mirrors cleared - which was the exact moment I decided the gym really missed me. Moral of the story: buy a funhouse mirror.
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