I’m so fucking hungry. Metaphorically, I mean. For art. For writing. For the three-line chord that makes the pigeons squeal. For the sentence that gets radio play. Delusional maybe but that’s part of the hunt. Like George Clooney in The Perfect Storm. He thinks he smells fish. 


Starting today, I’m going to limit my eating to a 9-hour window. Studies on mice show time-restricted eating window of 9 hours results in increased muscle mass, increased endurance—compared to the mice with food intake limited to only 12-hours or not at all. Calorie intake remains the same in each of the three mice. Which is nuts. Without any additional exercise, and the same diet, restricting the window of time in which you eat means you’ll have a muscle mass/endurance edge on the grazers. 


Today is Day 1. I’m going to eat from 10am-7pm. Downloaded the free app called ZERO. 


I’d rattle off all the data and benefits and #’s but I still need to re-listen to Rhonda Patrick’s podcasts with Joe Rogan and then her own podcasts on Found My Fitness and take notes and then memorize those notes. 


Better sleep. 

Better gut biome.

Better cellular repair. 

Better energy. 

Better endurance. 

Better muscle mass. 


Yesterday I messaged this Insta guy called @artbydzodzie and told him his art is explosive and the bomb shrapnel is the gut biome that everyone carries around but he manages to projectile vomits onto paper and capture the moment. He said word brother. I said can I ask you some questions. He said shoot. So I projectile vommitted all my fears about not being good enough and feeling like the momentum is slowing and wondering why people don’t dig long form writing and whether I should be patient or whether I’m delusional. And he said word. I feel you. He said this is the artists battle. Every damn day. He said nobody cares about your shit in the beginning. And then I said word. 


I’m obsessed. With art. With writing. With diary. And now with biology. 


During the fasting time, nothing xenobiotic can be consumed. No coffee. No tea. No pills. Only water. 


Maybe I’ll get a PhD in Biomedical Science. 


I read this and I wonder why you read this. I doubt everything I just wrote. Wonder if I should delete Rhonda Patrick and time-restricted-eating. Gary Vaynerchuck told this one girl on YouTube to make make make content about her life. She said her life is boring. Gary said wrong. Everybody thinks their own life is boring. But they also think that everybody else’s life is super interesting. Does that YouTube girl live inside me too?


So why do you read this? Are you floundering? Floating? My friend Kasey used to describe herself as a floater. I wonder if she still does. I know I do.


My mom got dry skin so bad her heels cracked open and she had to buy this special cream they use on cows called Udder Cream. The doctor said it was stress. Now I get dry skin so bed that I scratch my shin bones until my legs bleed. I don’t need a doctor to tell me it’s stress. I don’t use Udder Cream but I take the class on YouTube called Yoga For Stress. Cheers to Yoga With Adrienne. 


My stomach feels empty. Normally I’d be sipping coffee calorie-dense with coconut oil and almond milk. Now I have a glass of room temperature water on the desk. I haven’t touched it. Mmm. It’s wet. My stomach still feels empty. Apparently, it takes 2-3 days for your body to adjust. For satiety hormones to reset. 


I’m doing this not only for the lean muscle and cellular repair and endurance boost, but also to FEEL BETTER. To feel fully functional, optimal. To feel a mood other than okay or mmmmmmmmmm. I listened to Rhonda Patrick interview Satchin Panda and he talked about how it’s natural and beneficial for our mood and energy to vary throughout the day. Like, we’re supposed to feel drowsy before bed. Supposed to be feel light and energetic in the morning. Food during midday should recharge us, fuel the fire. 


Like meditation, I want to slow down and feel my battery charging. 


Ellie is doing a lot of falling these days. She’ll be standing, holding the legs of her high chair, for 10-15 minutes. Babbling and smiling and touching her toes and standing back up and babbling some more and then she’ll turn around too fast or get nudged by the dog, and she’ll collapse and cry. I tell her it’s okay baby. Falling is fine. As long as you get that little baby butt back up again. As long as you peel yourself up of the kitchen floor. 


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