Lifestyle

Dear Diary December 20, 2018 I’m going to get fit.. for the Apocalypse.

By

Not for vanity (I’m 33. I’m married. I’m not and never was a 10. That ship to assume an outer beauty has sailed.)

I feel I was always made for this.

Brought up seemingly without parents, I learned to fend for myself at an early age alongside the neighborhood kids I grew up with in my shitty apartment complex. We ran wild till we headed home, well after dark, and collapsed at home from the day’s exhaustion. Our parents never set curfews because they figured we could keep ourselves occupied, and we did. When we discovered a dead body in an apartment (cause when you’re poor, you lost among your hobbies and skills, breaking into empty apartments), we hightailed it out of there and never seemed to suffer psychological damage from the discovery because it was just another day living in a complex where the lifeguards spent more time dealing with abusive, drunk, belligerent boyfriends attempting to bring alcohol into the pool, rather than rescuing any children from drowning.

There’s a beautiful spareness to living the life of a impoverished child with negligent parents.

That’s why there are some amazing stories and movies that follow that storyline:

  • David Copperfield
  • The Florida Project
  • American Honey
  • Oliver Twist

To name a few.

Life is achingly simple and often boring. I remember spending summer mornings in the apartment, when it rained, just watching the water come down, while waiting for a store-brand Frenchbread pizza to cook in the microwave. When the cheese looked like melted plastic, I’d pop the microwave open, and then return to the window to watch the reason some more, chewing so slowly because there did not feel like anything to do, but churn my teeth through the fleshy bread that was always too chewy because I didn’t know how to use an oven to heat up frozen food.

At the same time that life is so boring, it is also so free of social stigma. One lives in the present. One does not care how “the future will be televised.” – Michael B Jordan, Black Panther.

Do you wish I was kidding about everything that I have just written here?

It’s all true.

We are heading to disaster, and I don’t care about being the prettiest, richest, best connected. I care about being the most prepared for when the world heads down the shitter. You, first world citizens, ought to be scared, concerned, in a headlock of panic.

I’m about to give up my apartment at a ridiculously low $1200/month in Chelsea, Manhattan, and I am ever feeling more and more comfortable about it because quitting that place means saving $1200/month as we will not be moving into another apartment. We instead are preparing for apocalypse by returning to our hardscrabble lives of living as nomads in this city, carrying everything we need in our backpacks as we roam from one place to the next.

I’ll keep enrolled in my fancy gym, not because I like their neon lights and pulsating music, but because their classes are the only way to motivate myself to develop my muscles in a way other than running and walking. I’ll continue to study, like a martial arts student, the best form to hold myself in while completing my exercises to achieve the maximum gain.

Until the apocalypse cometh, I’ll continue to find ways to enjoy the luxury of our times, doing things like dying my hair pink, despite not really knowing what I am doing.

Stay tuned for more apocalypse planning because part of being a nomad is implicitly learning to live like your home has been destroyed and is now nonexistent. 😃👍