I got my fitness and a huge chunk of my mood more or less squared out. I’ma jog every morning through the neighborhood and back from now on. I went for said jog this afternoon and now, a few hours and a nap later, my belly is like half size. Awesome. Already. Losing weight is gonna be pancakes.

Maybe not the best metaphor.

That, you know, that… not the exercise, but the exercise too, but I mean, what you said… takes a lot of weight off.

All these things are happening, one after the other.

My doc is putting me on depakote. It worked before. But a smaller dose, this time. So as not to fuck up my liver. I mean, swell it. Like, swelling, you know, like an injury, not life-threatening unless it gets out of control.

What I’m saying is it’s cool. It’s all cool.

And yeah, what you said, takes a lot of weight off. Thank you.

I love my mom. I don’t know why I never say that. I always say the opposite. Wow. Do I. But. I need to stop doing that.

Simplicity. Not in a dead man’s voice but, like, in the leaves of the park. In the wind at the pier. Chaos. In the same things.

How it all evens out. If you’re lucky.

They say it always gets better. I wonder if that’s true. How many people died, it didn’t get better for them.

Always feel like someone’s after me…

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