The thought of leaving my room pains me. To go down into that wretched lobby, filled with crabs. God, those crabs: scampering around, drunk off an unearned contentment, bumbling through meek and sloppy lives. They see me shining, optimized, and are consumed by repitilian instinct to claw at my legs, to drag me down and sacrifice me for their own mental health.
But I will be strong and descend into this hell. For it is lunch time, and I must obtain take-out from the restaurant next door.
I approach the front desk. It's unstaffed. Through my aviators I see a female child. She squints at me from a nearby table. She's wearing forest green overalls and a sheen leprechaun hat.
She runs up to me with a sickly grin-- gums swollen from refined grains and corn syrup, lips blue from food coloring. Then pinches my arm.
"Happy St. Patricks Day!! You can't wear all black like that unless your underwear is green but I doubt you're weearing green underwear because really I feel like you can tell who's wearing green underwear and you definitely don't wear green underwear I'd bet a million dollars on it."
Not a single cell in my body is amused. I stare at her in fierce silence. She leaves, vaguely afraid.
Minutes pass. Still no waiter. I return to my room hungry. It's not worth it. I resolve to fast today, as the noble cavemen once did.
Back my room, I command Alexa to put on Joe Rogan. Then I stare at myself in the mirror and repeat my daily affirmation.
"I run a successful dropshipping teacher training generating twenty thousand dollars a month in profit."
I open my laptop and crack my fingers. Let's fucking go.
As soon as I touch the keyboard my phone buzzes. God. Forgot to turn off notifications. Six micrograms of dopamine, wasted. For what?
"Happy St. Patrick's Day Adam! I hope you're doing well. Love you. I know you're so busy but call me when you have time. Just want to hear your voice :) - Mom"
I groan. Useless mental load. I should go off grid, get a burner phone. Maybe then will I achieve True Flow State. I clear the notification and add a task to my calendar: 'reply pleasantly to mom regarding birthday text'. Low pri.
I return to focus. Time to work. I crack my fingers again and review the daily agenda:
re-prioritize
triage
streamline
retrospect
Let's go. I export my Google Keep to Drive for further re-organization and triaging. Then I make a networked map of my Evernote notes in Roam, color code my Trello board, re-prioritize my todo list, and micro-tune my process timelines. All before 2 p.m. I'm on a roll.
I check the rest of my todo-list:
"Review dropship item brainstorm and choose top three candidates for final ranking"
"Finish SEO Ninja bootcamp"
"Twenty minute cold shower"
Heavy load, but I'm up to the challenge. Twenty minute cold shower. Let's go.
Standing alone in the bathroom, I clap my hands together and take a deep breath. Let's go, let's go. I take off my turtleneck and the shuddering starts. The thermostat remains at a strict fifty degrees. I haven't felt warmth in two weeks. Warmth is for the pussys. The hero must leave the womb to start his quest.
I finish undressing and set the water as cold as possible. Before entering, I take a reverential look towards my shower curtain: an enormous portrait of Wim Hof, shirtless in the snow.
My big toe tests the icy stream. A brutal shock runs up my inner thigh. My foot spasms, then my leg, then my whole body, shaking violently. My instincts scream: "don't go in, don't go in". But I am no animal. I force my other leg into the tub. The nobleman triumphs over instinct.
My vision blurs and my breathing becomes dangerously quick and shallow. A little voice in my head: "This is absurd. Why do this to yourself? Get out before you pass out."
But then another voice. A stronger voice. A manlier voice:
"DON'T BE A BITCH"
And so I bow my head under the pouring hail.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sunday morning, eleven a.m, pleasant yawning.
"Ahhhhhhhh, wow... it's 11. We should get up."
"Mmmm just five more minutes."
She wraps me in her arms and pulls me in, body so warm with life, and we sink back under the duvet, pressed tightly together, united against the open window's breeze.
We grow warmer and warmer in our little igloo. Warmer. Warmer. A little hot actually. Really hot. Almost suffocating. Really suffocating. Wait what's going on?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I gasp and sputter awake, laying on the floor of the bathtub. Ice water pummels my numb chest. I can't breathe. I hear the voice of David Goggins from a waterproof shower speaker.
"OUT OF THE TUB YOU FRAGILE MOTHERFUCKER. IT'S TIME TO GET AFTER IT."
My limbs feel foreign. My fingers have frozen together into flippers. Seal-like, I vault myself over the edge of the tub, then slide myself out of the bathroom.
I hear a buzz from the pocket of my jeans. I scoop my phone towards me. Through my swollen eyes I can only make out:
"Miss you"
Miss you. Miss you. My heart beats against my frigid ribs. It kindles a slight heat in my chest.
I expand the notification with my nose and focus as best I can:
"Miss you honey. Call me when you get the chance. Hope you're enjoying Mendocino. Don't work too hard. Love, mom."
The heat dies. I flip my phone away and process.
My own mom... my own mom telling me 'don't work too hard'? Don't work too hard? DON'T WORK TOO HARD? What!? Does she want me to be... to be AVERAGE? Crabs in a fucking barrel. CRABS!
The anger becomes my warmth. I find my strength and return to myself.
It's 2020 the year of renewal. The year of new habits. New processes. New calendar apps.
I will drop everything holding me back. Everything holding me back.
Everything holding me under the duvet at eleven a.m. even though they know I need to get up at six to start grinding. Everything begging me for five more minutes, even though they know that I must adhere to a strict circardian rhythm. Everything tracing their thumbs along the inside of my waistband even though they know that greatness is borne of suffering, that pleasure makes you weak.
Still naked, I slide across the floor to my laptop and open Todoist. Get after it. Get after it.
Task: "Shopify websites. 3 sets of 5. 20 minute break in-between. Work the shipping muscle."
The words don't register. My eyes defocus, staring through the screen. I feel a great wrenching in my stomach. My hands move on their own. Ctrl-t Pornhub tab enter.
An alert:
You have blocked this site! Do you wish to take a break (Y/N)?
Do you wish to take a break?
GOD! What the fuck am I doing? I grab my phone and ring The Hotline.
Another alert:
"ADAM, YOU ARE TRYING TO USE YOUR PHONE DURING YOUR SCHEDULED DEEP WORK HOURS OF 6 A.M. TO 11 P.M. YOU HAVE PLEDGED $1000 TO THE DEMOCRATIC SOCIALISTS OF AMERICA EACH TIME YOU VIOLATE THIS RULE. ARE YOU SURE YOU WISH TO PROCEED?"
Yes.
The call connects.
"Hello, brother."
"I-i-i think I'm going insane. I almost relapsed. Almost. Thank god I had it blocked. I have a TWO-HUNDRED day streak. TWO HUNDRED DAYS. And I almost ruined it all. For what? For what?"
"Deep breaths brother. I'm proud of you. You're doing great. You're going to make it. We're all going to make it. Just take some deep breaths--"
"I can't. I can't! I can't breathe! I'm so fucking cold! My lungs won't move!"
"Brother, calm yourself. You're only transitioning. The body just needs some time to adjust to the cold showers. The benefits really take about four to six weeks--"
"I'm so FUCKING cold I'm suffocating. I couldn't even jerk off if I wanted to! My arms are dead! My fingers are frozen together! I can barely see! What the FUCK is going on? What am I doing? I spent ten hours yesterday researching blenders! BLENDERS, brother. TEN HOURS TABULATING CHINESE BLENDER WHOLESALERS. FOR WHAT? IS THIS MY BEST LIFE? UPSELLING CHEAP FOREIGN BLENDERS ON SHOPIFY PAGES? IS THIS VICTORY?"
"Brother, please. You know not what you say. Remember how far you've come. Remember how late you used to wake up. How much time you'd waste under the duvet. How shallow your work was. Always texting."
"THAT'S THE ONLY THING THAT--"
"Brother, please, calm yourself."
"THE ONLY THING THAT GIVES ME WARMTH IS HER BREATH ON MY NECK."
"Hang on! I'm calling for backup."
"THE ONLY THING THAT GIVES ME WARMTH IS HER BREATH ON MY NECK"
"Deep breaths! Deep breaths! Wait-- what's that sound? Is that... is that... are you chewing??? Brother! It's outside the intermittent fasting window! Don't sin like this!"
I wheeze and cry and shovel chocolate into my mouth. The cocktail of tears, mucus, and saliva, brings the blood back to my fingers.
I see the alert in my browser. Do you want to take a break?
I stare at my dripping face reflects in the black and yellow screen. Then rise to close the blinds and unzip my pants.
"BROTHER! NO! THIS IS HIGHLY SUBOPTIMAL! DON'T DO THIS. I BEG YOU!"
The screams from the phone pass through my ears. I squeeze lubiderm into my dry palms and it all fades to black.