Sunday Night

Yes, apparently it is hard to write every day. 

First real attempt at "exercise" - how am I so out of shape, I am in better shape than a lot of the people in my life, are we all so unhealthy? Am I so deluded as to think I am stronger than some?

I don't like the electronic tracking of information, but I can't use these worn out hands for such dexterous work as penning on a sheet of paper so regularly with everything else I do to them, and how would the math be done for me if I had to do it myself - if I could just get better at getting up and not moping, doing the thing I want, and thereby be happy. Le sigh. The human condition. My eternal issue. How trite. 

I don't like the voice in my head today. You've been a right shit all day, self. Bah, go melt and try again tomorrow. I love you.