I ran home in the rain. All winter, I ran in the wet, prickle snow that was spitting in the winter of Connecticut. Sometimes, I was wearing jeans and Storck Birkin jogging, feeling too low, unable to concentrate. Put on the fitness equipment. But I did it. I took the medicine. I did it twentieth times. The chemical composition of my brain is slowly recovering. The prescription cured me.
I've been running, 20 minutes of stopwatch every day, because that therapist is right: 11 months and 3 days ago, I feel I need to feel my pain. It's real life again. But, as anyone has reached the edge and crossed it, I live in a nagging, constant fear that my next collapse will never be far away.The despair of the delicate titration brarry my brain needs 5- endorphin, serotonin, dopamine and glutamate NCE let me wear shoes on the sidewalk or treadmill. I never got the excitement of a legendary runner. I never thought of Zen meditation, or even a few seconds. This is a purely tedious physical discomfort, and worse, the car, the unhealthy mind of the mind. I set the stopwatch at 20:00My mind immediately took over in the process of self destruction, like this, "Okay, don't look at the watch." Fuck it. I've seen it. The sports match is 19 minutes and 58 seconds, and the stopwatch time is left. Jesus's damn Alison, at least five minutes later, don't see it again. Okay? All right.I really need bikini wax. But I shouldn't do that. I shouldn't have bought it again. It's too anti feminism. But I feel disgusted with my swimsuit. Why can't I become one of those women who come out of my bikini, just like I put a broken Brie Loppa Deca in it, so that's okay? It all hurts like a bastard.I can go right away, but I think I'm going to have my menstruation, just like it is now. The poor Asian women have seen my damn underwear too many times. They're Plo Babu Eli, so I'm going to get out of the box office. On this point, they'll lie and say they don't have time. Run for a 19 minute stopwatch, and go for a 40 second watch.
Sometimes I run in the street clothes. Some days, when the stopwatch was running in the street, I didn't look like I was running. I seemed to be late for work or wanted to go to work. It's a bus.
Before I die, I want to run another race, where I won't cry, I can't pee, I won't bleed on the finish line, and I won't die on the finish line. But now the only real competition is running every day, with a stopwatch running for 20 minutes every time, when people shout on the porch, with a little concern, "Hey! What are you late for? Then I looked at the palm's stopwatch. I found it was really late. Do you need a ride? "I smile, wave, go on. Try to tell yourself that when I realize that I'm sweating through my silk blouse, there are 18 minutes of stopwatch and 2 seconds, which may be my personal best.
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