Excercise as an emotional & mental crutch not to replace, but supplement the consumption of alcohol.
I don' t know what's what. I'm either looking destiny in the face and completely refusing to acknowledge her presence, or my delsusions of grandeur have finally elevated to a level where maybe, just maybe, I should get on some fucking drugs besides what comes out of pretty bottles. All I know is that I am going to work out like a bitch, my first, seasonal job is about to reappear and join my second, school year job after a December hiatus from kicking my ass, and I dont even fucking know if going to art school is anything i should even be thinking about doing right now, and when the hell am i going to make that fucking portfolio anyway.
Working out like a bitch makes angry go away. For a while.