A lot of people will have heard this term before – ‘critical mass’. Normally, it refers to the amount of fissile or fissionable material required to sustain a chain reaction in a nuclear reactor. In myself, however, it refers to fat. I have reached a critical mass – and I dare not go further.
I would also like to augment the above definition to – “the amount of lipid or saturated fuels required for doctor007 to have a meltdown of nuclear proportions.”
‘Oh god,’ you’re thinking, ‘is he going to bitch and moan about being fat, seriously?’ Well, rest assured, I most certainly am. However, I have resumed running, so it assuages my guilt, at least. It’s strange, because as I was kicking RM’s arse at a 100m sprint (haha, that’s right RM – cry.), I looked around at the campus and slowed to a walk. It was night, very cold to those with a normal heart rate, but refreshing to me. The lights of the campus seemed brighter and sharper from the darkened track and everything seemed alive in the wind. It was awesome, and I was on the point of telling myself that I had to stop being so dramatic and sentimental about such things when RM said, “I don’t know why we ever stopped running. This is amazing, I love feeling like this.” She gestured to the campus around us, and said how beautiful the clinical sciences building with it’s red lights was.
I could have made a moment out of it. I mean, we were totally on the same page with this one. There could have been a moment, and yet…
“God, RM. You’re so bloody mushy!”
Hm. Perhaps not.
Doctor007.
PS: RM is my friend. Her name is R____ M_______. Hope that clears things up.
PPS: You all see the clown face in the mushroom cloud, right? It’s not just me…..right?
