Death by Macaron

Why do we do it? Why do we put ourselves through agonizing fitness and diet routines only to be in pain in the morning and to be couch ridden watching Grey’s Anatomy and Roseanne reruns for endless hours.  Why do we do these things?  Workout? Diet? Sweat unnecessarily? I once believed that my body kept me from achieving my dreams and goals in life.  That if I wanted to be loved, be successful, be sexual, to just be, I had to fit a mold; a mold comprised of ignorant expectations presented by the world around me. But it was never my body holding me back, it was myself. Listening and absorbing the absurdities of society telling me that I had to look a certain way.

I sweat, I plank, I cardio not to loose weight and fit a mold, but because I refuse to be stagnant, static. Whether that is being active physically, politically, sexually, or mentally.  There will be no diets merely riots; revolutions.  Most importantly, I will not deny myself the pleasures of this world.  I want to take baths in champagne, get drunk on choux a la creme and overdose on macarons.  Macarons.  My death will be a glorious one, death by macarons.

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