eat me henger

me and my peers are fatter in our 30s. perhaps it's just the breakdown of collagen in our skin. could also be our bodies aren't recovering as well as it used to with all the abuse we've subjected it - from sleep deprivation to poor diet. make up and flattering angles can only do so much. i've been exercising and it hasn't made me any slimmer. i want to talk to my fellow fat contemporaries to get their perspective, but i worry i'll just trigger their insecurities. so i'm just writing about it here instead. a process i've been familiar with, but not exactly the most optimal route for getting to the truth... or at least a consensual explanation. not that it really matters. i've ran out of things to write, that i'm going over the mundanity of aging. i guess it's what i've been contending with, really. coming to terms that i am not as young as i used to be. duh. i guess the bigger deal is realizing that i took my early youth for granted. i kep...

i continue to feel unmotivated in writing. perhaps because i've managed my depression and i don't have anything worth writing about. i don't feel down anymore. just pumped for the next workout. even when i feel like writing because i'm going through something, i just can't bring myself to continue typing until i finish the entire entry. there's always something going on. perhaps no space for my creativity to breathe - just productivity. i guess there's pockets of opportunity to be creative in whatever productive activity you can do. creativity is just a matter of ingenious problem solving, or at least brazen pathfinding. maybe it's that. there's too much going on and i need to review if i need it. i derive pleasure from it, but not all fun things are necessary.

it's been weeks and i haven't written anything this year. this is a "fuck it" entry.  i don't always have something to write about. things happen, feelings come and go. there's no strong desire to really capture them in words, despite the profound rumination over my experiences. perhaps it's just a lack of discipline to get into a writing habit. perhaps it's a fear of not being able to pour my heart and exert my mind as much as i do other entries. perhaps it's exhaustion from writing a record number of speeches for work last year. most of which were written just as i was about to go to bed - hours before its delivery. i guess when there's no sense of relevant urgency nor threat of consequences, there's no real driving force to publish. but this is a "fuck it" entry, so whatever i come up with, i'm still going to click on "publish"