After my gym fiasco, I decided I needed to ground myself, both literally and metaphorically. So, I cooked up a nice meal: rice, chicken fries, and a salad. Yes, I know, it sounds like something you'd get at an unreasonably fancy food court, but hey, it was the perfect comfort food for a day of intense personal growth... and by "personal growth," I mean the occasional indulgence in trading talks with some people online about stuff I barely understood.
I prepped a creatine shake, which I drank with the grace of someone who had been doing this for years (spoiler: I hadn't). I shook it up and drank it in one go like I was some kind of fitness guru with a degree in muscle building and protein shakes. I probably looked like a fitness influencer, except without the camera, sponsorships, or anyone actually watching. Still, I powered through.
As the evening rolled in, I decided it was time for my evening ritual, which involved wearing a mask and cape. Yeah, you heard me right—a cape. But not just any cape. This time, I upgraded to a neck gaiter. The cape was still there, of course, like a reliable sidekick who just couldn't be left behind, but the gaiter was more practical for those "I'm definitely not a superhero" vibes.
I went for a run on the hill trail, as I do, because nothing says "I'm getting my life together" like running uphill for an hour while wearing an outfit designed to confuse anyone who saw me. I might as well have been chasing a plotline for an action movie, but with the budget of someone trying to stay fit without actually trying. It was supposed to feel empowering, but honestly, it felt more like I was running from my personal existential crisis.
I finally came back home, victorious in my mind but likely covered in enough sweat to water a small garden. I ate an apple because that's how you stay healthy—at least that's what the internet keeps telling me. As I bit into the crisp, shiny fruit, I said, "An apple a day keeps the doctor away," even though I knew deep down I'd probably just end up in a clinic later for something unrelated. Like an accidental paper cut or a weird bruise from... you know, being too heroic with my day-to-day activities.
Sitting on my bed, I tried to meditate for exactly one minute, as if I were some Zen master who had transcended the human condition. But really, I was just trying to avoid checking my phone, which, of course, I did immediately after. I scrolled for the next few hours, refreshing my social media feeds like an absolute champion of wasting time.
As I sat there, staring at my phone like it held the answers to life's most important questions (such as "What should I have for dinner tonight?" and "Is it okay to wear a cape inside?"), I thought, "My life is so boring. It's like watching paint dry, but the paint is in a constant state of trying to escape."
Honestly, I was starting to feel like the main character of a slice-of-life anime—except without the quirky sidekick or the dramatic soundtrack. And I definitely wasn't getting any cool superpowers... unless you count the ability to avoid responsibilities and be surprisingly efficient at procrastinating.
I mean, sure, there was the whole "gym-guy-who-makes-the-dumbbells-nervous" thing, and yeah, I had that run up the hill, but besides that, it was like my life was one comically underwhelming scene after another. But, of course, I was probably just one good story away from becoming a hero in my own right.
The real question remained: could I do something heroic without breaking anything? Could I maybe find an adventure that wasn't just me talking to my phone screen for hours?
Spoiler: Probably not. But hey, at least I had a cape.
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Scene Shift
The morning light peeked through my blinds, not enough to be called bright, but definitely enough to remind me that I'd somehow slept in. I opened my eyes slowly, taking in my surroundings with the kind of energy that would have had me labeled as "completely not ready to face the world." I stared at my room. The ceiling turned into a swirling vortex of thoughts... or maybe I just really needed more sleep. Either way, I was in no condition to be productive, yet I was still lying there as if I were a character in a slice-of-life anime who had just woken up from a dramatic sleep-in montage.
A few minutes of this intense "staring at the ceiling" routine passed before my brain started slowly catching up to the time, and by that, I mean I looked over at the clock and realized it was already 5 AM. I made the most awkward face you could possibly imagine—like someone who just realized they've been sleeping on their arm for 4 hours straight and can't feel their hand anymore. Not that I had any use for time or an alarm clock. I decided to not be a responsible human being and took a quick 20-minute nap to recharge. I mean, a 20-minute nap is a scientifically proven must if you want to live your best life, right?
Waking up again, I immediately resumed my staring habits. It was an art form by now—one of profound existential reflection, possibly sparked by my complete inability to get my life together. I got up, shuffled to the kitchen, and drank some water as if it were some elixir of life. The fridge greeted me like an old friend, and I couldn't help but wonder if it, too, was quietly judging me.