I have officially returned to my former weight when I was still a fat high school kid. All the hard work and determination of slimming down and shedding unnecessary fat in order to have reached the weight that I have successfully maintained for the past decade were all for naught. Granted, I’m not really fat in appearance, but those who have seen me for at least two year would definitely notice the heavy difference – nobody can hide 15 pounds of gained weight out the ass. Pumping irons may have saved me from a flabby reality, but still, gaining 15 pounds in two years is amazing for all the wrong reasons.
I blame the seat. I blame the personal computer. I blame the addiction of sorting through all that wonderful shit everybody finds on the Internet. Sigh. I know, I know. There’s nobody to blame but myself. Had I been much more proactive physically, had I consume less cheeseburger in one sitting, blah blah. But let’s face it, it’s much more convenient and fun to have a scapegoat for all your shortcomings. It’s one of the luxuries in life, so might as well make full use of it while I wallow in French fries and milkshake.
I have stopped preaching that change bullshit I’ve been mentioned during the start of the year. Not that I don’t believe in it anymore, but it’s probably time to be a little bit more meek about trumpeting my future unless I want my ego to take another hit into the deeper depths of disillusionment. Out of the handful of opportunities I have engage this past month, only one bit the hook, but I never pulled the line and sinker on this one for financial and practical reasons (although looking back at it now, I seemed to have made a huge mistake). The other four opportunities I’ve invested time in, I have failed miserably, or at least that’s what their lack communication via phone or e-mail is sending.
That really sucks. I think I’ve reached a realization that, after all the year I’ve spent going on cruise control with my professional life, everyone else I know or those within my age bracket have blitzed past me like roadkill. It’s a frustrating epiphany, giving rise to what-ifs and what-could-have-been, but it’s simply a matter of shoulda-woulda-coulda. There’s not point in dwelling over things that you could have done better, but it’s a matter of learning from all your stupid mistakes, be humble, and always, ALWAYS shoot for the stars, man. I sound like an anecdote from those Chicken Soup for the Soul books, but hey, everybody should have their gay moments, at least twice a week.