The Obligatory Mission Statement

Waiting is a difficult thing to do.  It causes anxiety, frustration, and worst of all boredom.  I hate waiting.  I hate commercials, and lines, and traffic, and timers ticking down time that could probably be better spent.  If minutes were mushrooms they'd accumulate and compound on one another into one giant, decomposing pile of fungal, festering years wasted in waiting.

The worst part is the willful nature of it all, as in we actually have a say in how choose to spend our time.  However, when  free and capable adults choose to spend their time miserably, you know, not spending their time at all, the word changes.  Suddenly we're not merely waiting anymore, we're procrastinating and the wasted years of our lives become thoroughly, shamefully, embarrassingly, our own damn fault.

Well I say fuck that.  I am 23 years old with dreams and ambitions and places to see and people to meet and an entire life to live and love and I am sick and tired of waiting for it to start.  I am an awful offender.  I have procrastinated my entire childhood down the disappointing drain.

If I'm being honest here (and this is anonymous, so why not) this blog is a pitiable act of desperation.  A drowning man's flailing attempt to take control.  When I was 18, I was emotionally stable and physically fit to the point of comfortable nudity.  Today, I am far too thin yet somehow still soft around the middle and yesterday I cried alone in my room for no less than four hours.   When I was 18, I felt good both with my body and my place in the world and simply put, I miss that confidence. 

I'm not claiming I was perfect in my youth.  In fact quite the contrary.  As is typical of teenage angst, my unbridled love of self was only outmatched by my internalized hatred of the world.  After half a decade of fuck-ups, fuck-offs, fuck-my-lives, and thank-fucking-god learning, I find myself looking at a photographic negative of my 18-year old self.  While fortunately I have lost my virginity and learned how to somewhat appreciate the world for all the gifts I am lucky enough to have a part in, I am also unavoidably disappointed in myself.  If the world were my favorite television show, I feel like the failure watching it from his couch.  I seek balance.  I seek rediscovery.  I seek a love for self while maintaining a gratitude for the world that allows me to do so.

The title of this project is '150 days.'  That's roughly 5 months total, or one month for each year I've pissed away since I legally became responsible for my own actions.  Within this time I am requiring of myself only two things: exercise for no less than 30 minutes a day and blogging for no less than as-long-as-I-freakin-feel-like a day.  A note: It takes 30 days of due-diligence to effectively establish a habit and 3 days of fucking-off to thoroughly screw it up, so "daily" is the key word here.  I am absolutely forbidden to skip a day.  The blogging serves a dual purpose: 1.) so that I can prove to myself that a self-imposed obligation can hold me accountable for my actions, and 2.) so that in the process of a mini-metamorphosis I can better remember and reflect upon the often painful and more-often-than-not wonderful ups and downs of change.  Even if I won't see it 'til retrospect, this project is a cocoon and today I am a larva.

Thanks for reading.

See you tomorrow.