Conversations with the self at the airport

For the past several days, all I’ve done is stare at my stomach. My round, expanding stomach. You know how it had become almost flat once? Yeah, I’d lost 20 kilos, I was super disciplined, and I was fitter than I’d ever been. Now? That girl is no more. It’s as if she never existed.

Every time I try visualising my life to think about where I am going, I always see myself drowning. Struggling to stay on the surface, but only barely. Balancing – or trying to anyway – a career, a sense of self, fitness goals, writing… its like I’m gasping for air all the fucking time, when all I want is to sail ahead. Maybe this is an essential process. There are so many things I want to do, so much to uncover, learn and achieve. Is this a rite of passage? Or is this what comes to a lazy fuck?


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