I await for the gym to open. Soon. I keep telling myself that I have recreated the habit of working out, but I know that it takes longer than a single week. Healthy habits tend to form more quickly than the non-healthy ones, though I'm not taking any chances. I'm going to try to go to the gym every day for two weeks and hope for the best after that, with a goal of five times a week. That is the regimen that is most likely to deliver happiness to my heart.
It is written in the tissue, announced by the beating.
I have nothing to report on. I was at home and in bed sleeping early, perhaps before 8pm. I had stopped by the local pizza place and bought lasagna takeout. Then, there was the intention to watch something off of the computer in bed. I awoke around 11:30 pm and the computer was still there, but I had no memory of having watched anything. The lasagna was, of course, long gone.
The most exciting thing that I have planned today is to choose which album I'm going to listen to while at the gym. Yesterday was The Fall's "This Nation's Saving Grace." Today, maybe "Live at the Witch Trials" or some early Pere Ubu or Public Image Ltd. Post-punk works well for this purpose. Something to agitate me towards a state of excitation and exhaustion. Something to help the flow of blood through my heart. Something.
Maybe some Howlin' Wolf.
.
