Day 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

It gets better then it gets worse than it was. Right now I am tired af. Going to sleep, see ya tomorrow. Shot!

The above makes no sense, save the part on fatigue. That was factual. I’ve been missing out on writing so much man. Not that I miss the writing, but I miss the regularity of knowing it is something I shall do.

Ironically, I read about a man who had done tens of thousands of push-ups, and tens of thousands of sit-ups in a year as a perseverance challenge to himself. He had committed to do 200 odd push-ups a day but he fell behind somehow so he would compensate by doing more on other days. Sometimes he did more before he fell behind as a buffer in case he failed. I was completely turned off at that point.

I turned off, and stopped reading the story because to me it defeats the challenge. And it does so dishonestly, to try and pretend the buffers and catch-ups could compensate. It also made me slightly uncomfortable because old women always are when bones are mentioned.

See, the point of this blog is to create consistently. It breeds confidence for me whenever I make something, the converse of which is excessive/unnecessary socializing that in turn drains me. I want to have something which reveals I to I, through which I can pick through my experiences past, and those which I am having through these cleaned glasses. I want to say things out loud so that they become real and tangible.

I’ve been failing to and those interruptions are down what the push-up article and I agree up; failure to resist temptation and instant gratification are fucking up my life. I must control myself, that is, the consciousness controlling mental process, brain functions, body and spirit. From the soul must come directive.

How do you talk to your soul?


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