I’m sure you’re a nice person but fucken hell:
Once the vom has cleared from your mouth. Here you go:
7:00am I wake up and am thankful that I can get out of bed, go pee, go back to bed, all without opening my eyes (or pissing on myself).
7:10am I head to my kitchen, look at the cream cheese, butter and coke zero in my fridge and wonder how I got to 39. I find this extremely depressing. On the bright side – day can only get better.
7:30am walk down a flight of stairs to get to my car. For a fitness professional – am remarkably puffed.
8:30am unless I wish to drink a coke-zero-butter-cream-cheese-smoothie, decide it’s safer to buy breakfast. I ensure my breakfast contains bacon, egg, hash-brown, cheese and bbq sauce.
9:00am workday begins. Ponder whether retirement is an option in the near future.
10:00am conclude that no. No, retirement is not an option in the near future. I can’t afford to retire for another 6-decades. Contemplate prostitution. Hours seem reasonable. Cash in hand. Choose own hours. Sounds remarkably like personal training – only better. You don’t have to wake up so early.
1:00pm lunch. 80% of which consists of peas, 20% of whatever non-perishable I could scrounge up in kitchen.
1:30pm downward spiral begins to 3pm slump.
5:00pm ignore all my problems from the day and assign them to future Marie.
5:30pm gym. Where else do you expect me to get inspiration to write? Imagination? *Bless*
7:00pm home. Time to corrupt my mind with reality television and social media (and corrupt body with a Maxibon).
9:30pm bed-time. Build self a pillow fortress and wrap self in a blanket like a kebab. Mmmmmm kebab.