Ow

I'm sore. Every part of me is sore. That bastard has me working out on machines and things. I don't know what the hell I'm doing anymore. I just don't see the point. Why the hell would I want to fly if it means this kind of pain?

He called me at like six in the morning to get me out of bed. That's not right for a sunday morning. It means I got, what, two good hours? He didn't know I was above my bed. The phone rang and woke me up too quick. I fell out of the air, bounced off the mattress and hit my head. That was just the start. We did running and drills and things, then we did exercises in a gym, systematically going through and beating the shit out of each muscle.

He told me today would be the hardest day. He said I should see it through to the other side and that my body would thank me in the end, that I would thank him. Fuck it, I fired him. I'll have this body forever, puny muscles and all.