YEEHAH, I am now nurturing bacteria in my lungs - organs that, due to a lifelong affiliation with asthma, were never too strong to begin with. Now, I'm not normally a pessimistic person (HAH!), but when I'm sick, all I want to do is curl up in my pjs with the furry wall (see image below) and about five tons of junk food. Now, logic dictates that to get better, lots of vitamins and fluids are necessary for, well, stuff. But I'll take a bag of light-green Lays and an order of chicken strips and spicy rice (lemon and herb - yes, I'm a wuss) courtesy of one Nandos, Grahamstown.
So essentially, while my body tries valiantly to cough up my last remaining lung, I attempt to poison it with sweet, sugary goodness. If I'm going to die, it might as well be while munching on a slab of Lindt's Creme Brulee milk chocolate. And one lone naartjie. I love naartjies - they're pretty much one of the only fruits I will deign to allow entry into my sacred temple.
Another reason for why I'm so much more cavalier about all the rubbish I eat is that I've recently acquired a personal trainer. As one does. I was actually worried about what he would be like, but as it turns out, we're quite a good match. He pushes me, but without getting to the point where I wish the treadmill would actually start moving and run him over. Although when he found out that I used to be a sprinter in high school, there was this gleam in his eye that's been there ever since. Considering he's the head coach for the University's track and field section of the athletics club, I'm somehow not surprised. I now know what Hansel felt like when he was snacking on witchy junk food and shoving chicken bones through the bars.
I could write more, but my attention span is slipping rapidly. Just a quick note - I started this post a while ago and so I still have to get to my mom's wedding and other news. Knowing my propensity for lazy posting, I wouldn't hold my breathe. Unless you're an Olympic swimmer or professional breathe-holder. Then go for it
So essentially, while my body tries valiantly to cough up my last remaining lung, I attempt to poison it with sweet, sugary goodness. If I'm going to die, it might as well be while munching on a slab of Lindt's Creme Brulee milk chocolate. And one lone naartjie. I love naartjies - they're pretty much one of the only fruits I will deign to allow entry into my sacred temple.
Another reason for why I'm so much more cavalier about all the rubbish I eat is that I've recently acquired a personal trainer. As one does. I was actually worried about what he would be like, but as it turns out, we're quite a good match. He pushes me, but without getting to the point where I wish the treadmill would actually start moving and run him over. Although when he found out that I used to be a sprinter in high school, there was this gleam in his eye that's been there ever since. Considering he's the head coach for the University's track and field section of the athletics club, I'm somehow not surprised. I now know what Hansel felt like when he was snacking on witchy junk food and shoving chicken bones through the bars.
I could write more, but my attention span is slipping rapidly. Just a quick note - I started this post a while ago and so I still have to get to my mom's wedding and other news. Knowing my propensity for lazy posting, I wouldn't hold my breathe. Unless you're an Olympic swimmer or professional breathe-holder. Then go for it
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