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.