And no sooner

was the preceeding post written than a handful of the wrong kind of crackers brought me absolutely to my knees. My diet is so regulated that it's pretty easy to tell when something upsets the order, so I can say with relative certainty that Honey Sesame TLC's are a no-go for me. Which is too bad, because they were tasty.

All those little aches and pains, eventually, they add up to something. Body, mind, body, mind, they gotta work together or they don't work at all. You gotta take care of your body. You gotta take care of your mind. You gotta love your body. Most people don't. Most people hate their bodies. You gotta get your mind to love your body. Even if you're fat around the middle, even if things don't work like they're supposed to you have got to love your body. 'Cause it's all you got to hold on to. It's all you got. I'll make a deal with you. I'll love your body if you love mine.

I missed half of work and all of a review for my upcoming Irish final because my body doesn't work right. It's like a dog that's constantly shitting on your couch. From day one since that mutt came in your door it's been leaving a steaming pile there fresh every morning. In all other respects it's a wonderful dog, but the little fucker won't stop shitting no matter what you do. At the end of the day you think to yourself, "well, I guess everything might be allright after all." Then you wake up 8 hours later and guess what?

Nothing's changed.

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