The Sneaky (Overlooked) Killer of Most Peoples’ Dreams and Success

Beat it before it tightens its delicate hold into a death squeeze

As I’m chittering on the toilet seat splashing hot water, all I can think of is jumping back into bed. But then a thundering realization erases all traces of sleepiness.

There was something terribly wrong.

Rewinding father time’s hands a few weeks, 6:00 AM meant grinding iron (alone) in the gym. Then a post-workout cold shower followed by meditation.

Not being cocooned in a fat blanket till 9:00.

Saturdays used to mean 24-hour fasts. Meals signified nutrition, not taste.

Leisure was reading books, not dopamine-bursts of YouTube. But since I went down with and recovered from the Rona, things had gone south.

What started as convalescence became the intoxicating poison of comfort.