A new, more verile outside.

A glance in the mirror reveals the truth: you own a magic notebook. A glance through your own mind confirms it even further. You now have two sets of memories, one that features the original you, an ordinary 5'10" black-haired man whose life hasn't recovered from a slump even at your current age of 25. It's not like you didn't try to overcome it, the hole just seems to keep getting deeper. Of course, progress was slow going in certain elements, so those were neglected in favor of something on a seemingly faster route.

The most obvious problem was physique. The baby fat came right off, but building even a lean-muscled body was far too arduous an objective along side the rest of life, even with the diets to help minimize body fat. However, a few edits to the diary allowed you to survive with an hour and a half less sleep every night, giving you the time you needed to add in some gym trips and jogs around town. And the bonus is you didn't fixate over the vanity muscles. They were better as well, but your legs and triceps weren't cast aside, giving you a complete chiseled look.

Of course, this also had its drawbacks. The most immediate is that you developed dark circles staining the tanned skin under your clear blue eyes that never seemed to disappear even after you finished school and obtained the time to compensate for the lost sleep. Tea consumption also increased to the point you now regret sacrificing a cup before the test, marking a new hurdle you'll need to overcome. Well worth it, you reason.

Shedding the shirt was done without hesitation, but the pants remained on. The constricted feeling before you even arrived was already a firm confirmation, but you just had to see how full your crotch looked. Changing your build was partially motivated by pride, the desire for attractiveness and simplifying the drudgery, but it was also geared towards health, strength, and confidence. On the other hand, inflating your member was complete ostentation. It was perfectly normal before: five inches long and four around when rock hard. Nothing embarrassing, but it would neither incite gossip nor build popularity. Such prospects were just too tempting. As such, your erect size was now your flaccid size. You open your fly and give yourself a few strokes, shaking your head at your own vanity. Every other edit has gone through. It won't short change you here, and you know it. You just wanted to see its pulsating girth and swollen scarlet head as you jest, Which way to the nearest porn studio?

While these cosmetic changes were joyous, you couldn't help noticing little else changed about your life. More provocative looks were directed your way, but few were pursued, and the furthest you've ever gone with a girl remains a blowjob. On top of that, your high school band still never garnered a label even for you alone despite the scouts all originally agreeing none of you had a marketable appearance; the new timelines represents that they disliked punk bands. In spite of the instilled morale, you remained intimidated by beauties and strangers alike. Books and schoolwork still became old friends as these chances crumbled around you as life settled into a humdrum office worker.

It didn't take long to figure out what happened. The peek at the diary was mere confirmation.

The aesthetic changes went through flawlessly, though not without minor consequences. Regardless, I'm happy with it. What I'm not happy with is the lack of deviations from history. Unfortunately, this diary won't make me do new things unless specifically instructed. The closest it gets is allowing me more opportunities to relive established experiences. While there are things I'd love to change further, the diary's omnipotence has made me curious about the truthfulness of certain conversations that I might look up after putting my clothes back on. Of course, there's always the diary's other powers to consider working towards. Then there's that pesky life I lead due to my love of food and water.

"Not a bad list," you think aloud.