He woke up today with a plan. He was going to be different. As his eyelids let the sun invade the slow growing platform of his conscience, he realised that his body hurt. The curtains hung freely, not covering the rays that escaped the dark clouds. That's the thing about London, he thought. You can get disturbed by the sun one second and find yourself literary covered in dark, heavy clouds the next.
His jogging outfit lay on the armchair, next to his running watch and his headphones. He even worked out the right music for this first day of his new life. If only his body would stop hurting so badly. He felt like he had been bitten up by a gang of angry revolutionist. Bollocks. But didn't he put his mind to not letting reality mess up his plan? Was he thinking it was going to be an easy one? Because it wasn't. He uncovered his naked body and didn't like the sight. It wasn't only about running, no, but it was a first step. It was also about healthy eating, smiling more, taking regular baths and put goals on paper for him to achieve. He would start progressively. One day he would run, watch a good news channel, read for a while and eat steamed vegetables with fish.
He stood in front of the small mirror in his room and tried to smile. He stretched his facial muscles and he let two lines of white healthy teeth show. But his eyes were observant, concerned with understanding the changes on his face while he made great efforts to smile. That was not a smile. That was pilates for the face. Not necessaries what he wanted for this morning. Then he remembered what his doctor had said about the list. He had to make a list of things that bring him joy. You see that in a documentary and you think it's shit. Your doctor tells you exactly the same thing and you take it as it's the only thing that can save your life... So he rushed to his desk and read the first word on the line. Stewie. He burst into laughters and went back to the mirror. His face was taking the same shape, he had a beautiful smile, indubitably, but his eyes were warmer, his eyelids heavier as the images spring from within himself. He enjoyed that. He went back to the list. Puppies walking backwards. His laughter had a voice now, his morning hoarse voice was replaced by a crystalline laughter that make him laugh even more. Who gave a damn about the clouds, the pain in his muscles was slowly easing and the jogging outfit made him think about him galloping like a thoroughbred horse on open fields. Oh, he was going to do this.
He opened the window and let the cold air invade his longs. That was cold air, alright. He jumped into his jogging suit and stretched his arms. He went out.