Quit It

So, I just did the most twenty-something-living-alone thing anybody could do. I made myself a ready-to-eat supper. It wasn't as good as I thought it would be, but sadly, it wasn't as bad either.

It's been a while since I cooked. Well, anything that takes longer than three minutes anyway. See, the thing is, I have been leading an exceedingly detrimental lifestyle for some time now. But here's the part that is supposed to make it all okay - I'm very self-aware of that fact. It's not like a six-year-old stuffing themselves with candy, which, now that I think about it, might be worse.

I want to do something about it. I will, in my own time. I have no qualms about admitting that I may be on a marginally self-destructive path of late, but consider it my experimentation with the trajectory of human life. It has been relaxing to a degree, but not certainly restful. Still can't shake off that sense of moral culpability for not doing enough with my time. With my life. Or maybe it's just me blowing things out of proportion because I can't commit to healthy meals. Oh yeah, commitment issues, that's a new one.

One of my favorite things about myself used to be the ability to think in depth. Really reflect upon a subject and come to a decisive conclusion. Maybe I couldn't always maintain objectivity in that process, but I sure didn't burden myself with a chronic dose of guilt and shame. Between you and me, it has been exasperating.

Instant dinner. All this from an instant dinner. Power down, brain. If you insist on going on, at least apply yourself better.