Intoxicated
By the rough ink of the night
Waiting for the dawn.
***
I went to bed pretty early yesterday, as I felt tired and lethargic, expecting some great rest for the week to come. But I felt like this night was exhausting. Tons of heavy, crowded, thick dreams. Morning felt like a relief.
I didn’t write a single poem this month… Well, I started one and thought about another but they aren’t written…
I may try to write one daily in April… Stop thinking about digits for a while… diet results… retirement savings schemes… mortgage financing… Bad for poetry…
22 pounds / 10 kg lost since the beginning of the year. That’s 24% of my objective.
My BMI went from 32,76 to 29,90. I still need to go under 25 to have a normal weight. If I keep the same pace, my BMI will be around 27 in three months.
I could have been a little more disciplined on the eating, mostly in the weekends. But still, I’m eating healthier, trying to raise the proportion of fruits and vegetables I eat. I also explored anticancer and low-carb diet diets but they don’t fit that well with my sensible bowel (I had 4 painful crisis this year so far). I lost a lot of energy on these issues. So, I hope that over the next 3 months, I won’t fool around too much over what I eat so I can get results. Also, I started to breakfast daily, what I didn’t do since an eternity. As every nutritionist will say that skipping breakfast is bad… However, I can’t tell so far if they are right but I follow the advice…
I didn’t exercised much. Well, I can do something like 5 hours of walking weekly but I don’t see that as a workout. I want to do a lot of biking this spring (smooth and funny rides sometimes after the job and longer trips on the weekend). I thought about suscribing to a gym but it’s kind of expensive and I don’t want to spend 50$ a month if I only go there 4 times a month. It’s a matter of commitment. Plus, as I plan to workout a lot outside this summer, it really looks like a waste of money. There is also something about pride: I want to see if I can reach my ideal weight by myself. Then, will I be able to maintain it? If so, why would I get to the gym? I easily see myself going almost daily to the gym when I’ll be over 60 to remain as healthy as I can be. But until then, I might remain on my own.
One odd thought I have in mind these days: what would I do with my lifetime savings after I pass out? If I outlive all my relatives or if they all are 96 years old and wealthy, what should I do with that money? I really have no idea right now. Maybe a green cause but then, which one? Through which organization? I could create some kind of foundation but I think that’s pretty much a display of vanity.
The most interesting questions are always the ones parallel to the ones we are asking ourselves. I felt on one about a perfect world.
Most of us might see a perfect world as a result instead of a process – how a world in process could be perfect? I couldn’t stand an unimprovable world.
But the most important question about a perfect world is not how it would be but how we are. A perfect world would be built from who we are.
Would a perfect world be suitable with us?
Mostly: what are we made of? Greed? Fear? Hunger?
Before willing to improve the world, shouldn’t we be willing to improve ourselves?
Lately, old teenage ideas about a better world came back in my mind. I thought: what’s missing? Why are we thinking about a better world? Do we miss ingredients? Recipes? Cooks?
It’s easy to imagine a better world. Damn easy. But according to who we are, could we get better?
Legend has it that Hemingway was once challenged to write a story in only six words. His response? “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” Last year, SMITH Magazine re-ignited the recountre by asking our readers for their own six-word memoirs. They sent in short life stories in droves, from the bittersweet (“Cursed with cancer, blessed with friends”) and poignant (“I still make coffee for two”) to the inspirational (“Business school? Bah! Pop music? Hurrah”) and hilarious (“I like big butts, can’t lie”).
Brilliant. Shorter is always better. But it’s not an easy process. Collecting differents universes I’m in, wrapping up all sides of my life…
The poet would probably like “I found out she is joy”. But I don’t think the whole me would.
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