Well I did set myself some lofty, ambitious goals and they were all to be completed before the end of the year. Little things like getting a tattoo, sitting my motorcycle license test and completing a Balls Out road Trip. Of course none of those things happened, what the fuck were you thinking? Okay so there's tentative planning for the ink, the bike riding has taken a backseat to car building and BORT 10 has been officially renamed BORT 11 for obvious reasons.
I also realised, as I climbed aboard my bathroom scales for the first time in months that without constant negative reinforcement and the threat of gaining a couple of grams, that I've somehow ballooned into a gigantic fat-arse. My current weight is a gargantuan ten fucking kilograms above ideal. I'm not sure where that weight is sitting, but that's only because I'm too afraid to look at my bloated stomach or hefty thighs.
To remedy that I've started a health-kick. My dinner was steamed salmon and steamed vegetables, and to further aid my cause I ate around most of the solids and just filled up on the steam. That should do it. Another sure-fire weight-loss accelerant is smoking, so after six months off I'm back on the fags, inhaling my way to a slimmer figure. Yeah, that ought to do it.
I can't help but wonder where it all went wrong. The correct answer is that it didn't. I just tend to be easily distracted. Instead of blogging I got hooked on the crack that is Grindr and Scruff. Of course the upshot of that is landing more cock than I ever thought possible, on the other hand - no, wait. I don't think there's a negative to that.
This morning as I rushed out the door for work with a piece of toast hanging from my mouth, buttoning up my shirt, with weet-bix already dabbed on the cuffs, I grabbed the bin in my bedroom to empty it for greater waste collection. That was when it all fell into place.
The contents of my waste receptacle were thus: Twenty-three individual socks that haven't had a mate for years, which I'd finally given up hope on. A ham and cheese sandwich that I got too busy to eat and let on the dashboard of my car for a week, until it started attempting to hotwire itself outta there. A used condom - no one came in it so it was probably okay to re-use but I couldn't work out which side should face out. An empty packet of Cialis, at $18 per erection I should probably stop chewing through them like tic tacs. And to top it off, yet another pair of broken sunglasses that I'd sat on, a victim of my lack of attention to my surroundings.
I wish I'd taken a photo, but I couldn't find my camera. Its probably at the bottom of that bin liner come to think of it. If ever my life were to be paraphrased in a physical medium, that is exactly what it would look like.