What is it about the night that makes me want to eat my boredom? Makes me want to eat boredom, hunger, joy, loneliness, pain. With the night comes my inability to be satiated. Crawling through my intestine this monster reaches for my weakness and offers it strength. The strength to do that which makes me weak. Consumed by my inability to control myself I often give in regrettably, immediately. Full from follies far from significant I offer my regrets simultaneous with relief. It’s good to consume without consequence.
Yet the results are always there. Each season with skimpier clothes attempting to hide a larger body I take note of my mistakes from colder days. I acknowledge my habits and vow to do better. Not lying, my habits change with the season. Exercise. Food. Outlook. All different. Yet, the same come the same months. Always the same. Exercise lessens. Motivation plummets. I expand. Always with the expansion.
The middle of this season is not the same. Armed with different tools my behavior is different. Slightly. Enough. The onslaught of these colder months has introduced itself to a different me. And so I fast. I’ve become accustomed to routines that are better than before but not good enough for yet. This depletion of the nutrients in me is giving way to passage of the toxicity in me as well. I will meditate, exercise, grow, and accept all which greets me as enter I into difference.