I am getting out of bed. in The Napkin.

Not a declaration or mission statement. Just an annotation.

I’ve had patches where I haven’t wanted to get out of bed at all. Whether exhaustion or just not wanting to face the day. My ridiculous scheme to hardcore fix my circadian worked. I’m going to bed around 9-11PM, and waking up around 4-6 am.

I identified that caffeine was affecting my anxiety during the day, especially at night. Well, I still am on edge towards nighttime. Bizarre how quickly things piss me off after the sun sets. The smallest things and I’m all “MOTHERFUCKER!”

(I’m not a creative curser.)

I was downing instant coffee, eating my oatmeal, then taking preworkout. Doesn’t take passing the 8th grade to add that caffeine up. I don’t know how the hell I got up early in my twenties without the damned shit. I wish had never started taking caffeine recreationally.

To try and wean my cheap ass off preworkout, I’ve been having my instant coffee after my oatmeal. I’m finding that by the time I finish my oatmeal, my energy levels are pretty nominal.

I’m thinking taking “something” prior to a workout is partly a placebo effect at this point. I’m not a hype-myself-up type of gymrat. When I approach the bar, I tend to slow my breathing. I close my eyes and mentally go through my cues. I brace, inhale gently, and proceed with the lift. It is NOT some manic spike like caffeine might jolt you. Aside from my ugly exertion face, and pr0nworthy breathing, effective effort looks effortless.

Other than iron, there’s kind of nothing in my life. I do my best daily to quell the knowledge that there’s no point in going on. No family, no money. No way around it: If you’re broke, money CAN buy happiness. I have somehow survived to another calendar.

Life is work. Existing is work. One long grind until we’re ashes. And then forgotten.

I couldn’t tell you what drags my little white butt to the gym every day.

Maybe something in the basement.

I think for now, I’m not meditating on the how or why.

I have my gymlog from 2022. I tell ya, this is why I keep physical records. Pages and pages of effort. Pages of raw data. Proof of, “yeah, I did that.”

I have a new log that I started in November. And dang, strength comes back FAST.

Maybe this is the meaning of “working on me”, I don’t know. The longer this whole “living” thing goes on, the more it feels like a simulation. Like it’s not real at all. Millions of people, just living out there lives. It won’t matter when I finally die, anyway.

“Squats make you harder to kill.” - Mark Rippetoe, probably