I did well for a while, but I gained it all back and more--at the tune of 306 lbs. A few years later, I lost it again, down to 220 lbs. Not perfect, but much better. And then? I shot back up to 260 lbs. I'm holding steady at 240 lbs. right now, but I need to get this fat off of me as soon as possible. I would like to be around 200 lbs. If I can pull that off, my doctor will take me off of my meds. That would be very nice.
When I was younger, it was so much easier to lose weight. Now? I'm 36, and it's next to impossible, especially since I've found so many other fast food wonders, like the quesarito at Taco Bell. Sometimes, it's so difficult that I feel a craving, and when I give in to said craving, I spiral out of control. My main thought, and I am fully aware of how flawed it is, is this: "Well, I already fucked up. I might as well continue fucking up because I'm just not suited for this. So fuck my plan, let's get some quesaritos."
I'm getting too old for this shit. I've got to find some way to control myself, especially since I've got all of these health problems.
I saw GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY this weekend, and Chris Pratt is a very attractive man. Imagine my shock when I learned that not too long ago, he weighed 300 lbs. How is that possible? Did you see him with his shirt off in the movie?
Holy shit, right? Recently, someone asked him how he got in shape, and he said, and I'm paraphrasing here, that anyone who wants to do this needs to cut the shit out of their diet and get some exercise. Some advice never fails. There are no shortcuts. There's just hard work, and he's right. This is a truth I've always known. I mean, shit. I've lost a lot of weight before. This guy lost a lot of weight in an amazing way.
He weighed 300 lbs. I'm at 240 lbs. Why can't I lose my stupid gut?
Granted, he lost the weight because he knew he had a great paycheck waiting for him. I have no monetary reward waiting for me. However, it would be nice to live past 40. I never expected that, but it would be kind of cool, especially since I have two and a half new books coming out soon. It's not even a matter of making myself more attractive, because shockingly enough, I still got laid at 306 lbs. It's a matter of being successful, I think, and maybe being able to look myself in the mirror without blanching at the flab hanging over my belt.
In fact, fuck Chris Pratt for the moment. I mean, I like the guy. He's attractive and charismatic, but he's Hollywood. Let's turn our attention closer to home: Jon Michael Lennon, creator of PRODUCT OF SOCIETY. I've known the guy for a long time. When I first met him, he was not in good physical shape. Now? He's doing pretty fucking well. He's got this old driver's license, and for the first time since I met him, he actually looks like that old photo. He lost a hundred pounds, or somewhere in that neighborhood.
I don't even need to do that. All I need to do is lose 40 lbs. Once upon a time, I did that and more in one summer. I don't expect that from my 36-year-old body, but maybe, by the time the holidays roll around, it would be nice to be back in shape.
So here it is: time to quit my bad habits again. I say this a lot, but I think this time, I might do it for real. Caffeine is my one true addiction. I've battled it in the past, and recently I defeated it. However, I've been partaking again recently. Not to the point where I'm addicted again, but I'm afraid if I keep doing that, I might backslide and get hooked, just like I used to be. I also need to quit fast food again. I love McDonald's double cheeseburgers and Wendy's Pretzel Bacon Cheeseburger and Taco Bell's quesaritos (among other things), but I've got to stop. I really have to.
Also, I should cut back on the booze again. I don't drink much anymore because of my pancreas problems. I usually don't drink enough to get beyond buzzed. Buzzed, for me, is OK. Beyond that is testing the limits. I haven't gotten really drunk recently, except for last night, which was fun but also scary at the same time.
So here's the plan: tomorrow, I'm allowing myself an energy drink in the morning, but that's it. It's late now, and I'm still kind of wired, so I've taken a sleeping pill. Sleeping pills make me feel like shit the next day. If I don't have a Monster, I'll lose my job. If I lose my job, I'll just give up and spiral down into lunacy and depression and don't-give-a-fuck-itis. But after that, no more bad habits until Thursday night, which I've already planned on. It's an unofficial work outing, so I'll indulge my booze-tooth. On Friday, I might allow myself another Monster, and Friday night might involve a couple of drinks. Nothing crazy. But after that? I don't want to plan too far into the future, because my plans tend to fall apart after a week's length. But I'll want to pull back on everything at that point.
Yesterday, I saw Nicole Evans in jail. She co-wrote "Suicidal Tendencies" in TALES OF QUESTIONABLE TASTE with me. She's been behind bars for nine months, and she might be gone for another year in actual prison. The last time she saw me, I had twenty extra pounds on me, so even though I knew I looked like garbage, she said I looked nice.
I bring this up, because the next time I see her will probably be a half-year from now (since the drive to actual prison is about three hours, and there's no way I can make that on a regular basis). Here's my goal: the next time I see her, I want to be in shape. I don't have to be perfect, but I don't want to look like a fucking slob, like I do now. Wish me luck.
Goodnight, you wonderful, wonderful fuckers.
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