Tag: Self-care

Dear Diary 8

~ korymcclary1221 ~ 1 Comment

Affirmation: Every step I take, no matter how small, is a step toward understanding my purpose.

Dear Diary,
What’s the highest elevation of the self?
Is it wealth or glory?
Is the highest elevation of the self even a true story?
Like, is it possible?

Sometimes I wonder if I’m a philosopher, searching for the truth. Religion says searching is a form of Lucifer, but I’m just a questioner—a quester.
I don’t know.

I want my tomorrow to be better than my today.
Sometimes I fall.
Sometimes I stay in place.
Sometimes I elevate.

At the end of the day, I wonder: what progress was made? What even determines progress?
Is it the accumulation of wealth?
The preservation of health?
Or the pursuit of the highest elevation of the self?

Dear Diary,
I get confused by the rules of life.
To change the world is to change my sight.
Am I right, or am I wrong?
Left, or right?

I followed the path—and I was wrong.
I abandoned the ship; swimming took courage and strength.
But I’m strong.

Dear Diary,
Allow my legacy to reach the stars and beyond eternity. Allow the universe to embrace me.

What defines the highest elevation of the self—success in the world, or peace within it?

Dear Diary 7

~ korymcclary1221 ~ 1 Comment

Affirmation: I may be tired, but at least I’m not the guy who gets dunked on in footsketball.—

Dear Diary,

Since I’ve been working in the cookhouse, I’ve been missing a lot of yard time. Yard goes out at 8:00 AM, and honestly, I’m too exhausted to make it.

I work from 10:00 AM until about 5:30 or 6:00 PM every day. By the time I get back, take a shower, and lock into my cell, it’s usually 15 minutes to 7:00 PM.

I’ll spend some time grinding on the jawn until 1 or 2 in the morning. Then I pass out. So yeah, mornings? Not my strong suit.

Every night I lie to myself, saying, “Tomorrow, I’m making it to yard.” And every morning, I wake up like, “Yeah… maybe next time.” It’s disappointing, though, because I need that workout. Sweating it out helps me stay healthy, keeps the stress down, and gives me a moment to just breathe fresh air—if you can even call it that in here.

But, man, this cookhouse gig is stealing my energy and my creativity. I’m ready to throw in the towel. Not literally, though—those towels are hard to come by. Anyway, the cookhouse isn’t even the focus of this entry,

Diary. I finally made it to the gym today, and let me tell you, running up and down the court with these young dudes felt like sweet freedom… until the bruises set in. Basketball in Trenton isn’t basketball; it’s footsketball. It’s not a game—it’s war.Now my body is screaming at me, every muscle reminding me of those missed mornings in the yard.

But honestly? The exhaustion is worth it. There’s something about the sweat, the heavy breathing, and even the occasional elbow to the ribs that makes me feel alive.

Dear Diary,I am hurtin’.—

Is it still called a “victory lap” if you’re limping the whole way?