Friday, September 2, 2011


I always feel weird about writing godawful poetry (note: I rarely write poetry that is not godawful) and sharing it with someone. On the one hand, things must be bleak if I'm writing poetry, godawful or otherwise. Then again, things must not be too terribly horribly no good very bad if I'm able to deal with them by taking a second to write poetry, godawful or otherwise.

Last night I did five hundred pushups and one hundred situps. That sounds like a lot, but they were all pretty much necessary. I had another panic attack. Or almost had one. For more than two hours. I don't know exactly what happened, but it sucked out loud. After the twenty-fifth pushup, it stopped sucking or doing anything else because all I could feel was my body.
And then I took a hot bath. Incidentally, exercise and hot baths go together really well, as long as you make sure to do them in that order.

"I think I had a point, but I just got distracted."

I'm going to have some sort of Shopping Emergency in the next two and a half weeks. But don't worry, I'm already planning how to deal with it.

My allergies have been kicking my ass since Sunday night.

The moral of the story is that Depression is a jerk and I'm tired of fighting him. I wish I could just be normal.

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