Waking up

Most people that know me can probably testify to the fact that I am I lazy person.  I am, in fact, an extremely lazy person.  If I could, I’d probably lie around naked reading comic books, watching horror movies and listening to weird, genre-defying music pretty much all day every day, with intermittent bouts of espresso-fueled binge-writing that last about eight or nine hours, followed by twenty hours of sleep.

This lifestyle is, sadly, impractical.  I need money to pay for wireless internet, comic books, whiskey, out-of-print treatises on vampirism, and food.  Also, no women are involved in it, and that’s a downside.  And since I still haven’t quite managed to earn a living and get dates using my knowledge of pre-war pulp fiction, action is needed.

Specifically, I need to wake myself up.

I work on the sixth floor of a seven-floor building.  I’ve stopped using the elevators.  Every day after work, I go down the stairs to the sub-basement parking garage, up the stairs to the roof, and then back down again.  Every night, I spend more than an hour walking.  As these things get easier, I’ll add more to them, working up to running.  Also sit-ups, push-ups and so forth.

After that, I write at least five hundred words of fiction every night.  Doesn’t have to be good, or coherent, but I need to get the habit of putting five hundred words down every day.  I aim to expand on that, too.

My diet’s been reassessed a little bit, too.  Small stuff, so far.  More fruit.  A lot more fruit.  I’m trying to drink a gallon of water every day, and avoid beverages with high fructose corn syrup (which is a lot harder than it should be, thank you very much corn lobby).

So far, I’ve done tolerably well at keeping to my resolutions.  I figure I’ll do better if I’m held accountable, which is why you get to hear about it.


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