Sunday, September 13, 2015

Lost in the Wilderness of Options; Belly-aching Belly Bulge... Again.

I am not so much gaining weight as I am losing muscle tone. My metabolic disorder is ordering me to diet again. Parkinson's package of pain, and general loss of balance, restricts my motion. Yet motion is the prescription, coupled with low caloric intake... Zipping up the pie hole while wiggling the Wabash.

Unfortunately my favorite exercise in years past has always been long dream-walking, pilgrimages to new neighborhoods. Lost in a healthy happy mind set of imagines... adrift in a thought-rich walk, sightseeing the little details on all the back streets and riversides of my favorite cities.

Walking has always awakened my inner athlete, subduing my slothful tendencies, bringing me back to trim. Nowadays putting out the trash is a marathon-esque quest crippled in diagnosable discomforts. I just can't walk like I use to. Instead I do an exhausting zombie shuffle, an old man comical short step worthy of slapstick giggles. Though instead of laughing... I long for a place to sit, hidden from public scrutiny. Usually I just stay home.

My dietary regime, in days gone past, was predictably some fad scam of weight loss fanatically followed, creating inspirational success, until reality crept back in, lazy old binges of mind-soothing decadence. Classical roller-coasting in a recognizable inefficiency. All fatties know the dance.

Yet, fat fastened to the midriff is unequivocally unhealthy, ugly to be, and impossible to disguise. Sin shows in a world of selfies. And when coupled with failing teeth, balding head, and sagging skin, it is just best to get over whatever it is, and just do the damn diet... again.

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