I had plans to write a piece that documented my reflections at a recent experience and use it to outline the nature of a few of my personal qualities that I find undesirable. However, this weekend turned out to be more painful than I had anticipated, so I couldn’t get started on it. I do want to stick to the weekly cadence of publishing, so I am sharing something I wrote back in November of 2021.
I’m trying to write about today in a way that is not just documenting the events but also paying attention to the way I write. Let’s see what I produce.
As expected, the two alarms set five minutes apart from each other failed to persuade me out of a brief period of lingering on the couch. This lack of urgency was made possible primarily by the fact that it’s a Saturday morning; there was no need for the usual rush to get to the gym so as to ensure adequate workout time before I start office work. Two glasses of rum I had had last night and the questionable quality of pork that caused a funny feeling in my stomach immediately after I ate it—in addition to the usual nausea associated with pork fat—added to my dysania.
The mind buzzed back to work the moment I was awake like a computer that was turned on from its sleep mode with multiple applications open: contemplation, regrets, mental checklists, future planning and a million other usual post-sleep mental activity. Sometimes I wonder if those people who claim to have clarity and peace of mind in the morning have their brains wired differently. A steaming cup of coffee began to infuse gradual wakefulness and energy as my thoughts continued to jump from pleasant to painful to equanimity, from my ex to one of my friends to the two women at the gym, from Sam Harris to Krystal Ball to the Buddha, creating a muddled state of consciousness. My hand instinctively reached out to the TV remote, but retracted once it received a brain signal about the futility (or worse, any number of undesirable outcomes, such as skipping workout) of turning the TV on.
As both of my workout shorts were still not completely dry and I didn’t want to wear the pajama with stripes, I fished out a pair of trekking pants. There were a few moments of hesitation because of the relatively diminished stylishness I perceive when I wear them. I went ahead and wore it anyway—with a corporate-branded synthetic shirt—after I realized that the gym is likely to be emptier on a Saturday morning, and, more importantly, the two women are likely to be absent. I had to pick the blue pair of Decathlon shoes because the old pair of Nike still carries the dirt and sludge as though I am keeping it as some sort of an evidence to prove my visit to the Mahabodhi temple, an evidence perhaps to refute any allegation of a weekend wasted at home.
It was leg day today per my new weekly mental schedule that now includes two days of exercising my leg muscles. My own mild insecurities related to the shape and size of my legs compounded by a compliment from my ex recently about how thin my legs were nudged me to accommodate an extra day for my quads, hamstrings, and calves to flex. I must clarify that I am not ashamed of my legs; I wear shorts, and I like them. But I think the way my legs are can make a reasonable case for some additional resistance to the muscles inside them. Also, the intensity of a typical leg workout done twice a week will certainly be helpful in my weight-loss goals.
The workout was quite satisfying as it has mostly been since I started two weeks ago. Whatever hormones were released as a result of the resistance—created with dumbbells, plates, and the stacks of weights in various pieces of gym equipment—to the movement of my leg muscles certainly put me in a relaxed state of mind. I completed the episode of the Seen and the Unseen with Snehal Pradhan; what a strong-willed, competent, and skilled human being! While she was narrating the stories of various projects she undertook post her cricketing career, which included writing, my dormant dreams of being a writer slowly came alive and made me write this rambling piece. Unlike the earlier attempts, which were about writing a short story based on my childhood, this exercise of chronicling the mundane is aimed at gaining some practice in writing. There are no specific immediate ends to meet with these entries, but just a hope that one day they would help me effectively articulate in writing my thoughts, stories, and experiences.
Cosimo's Confessions 