oh, my god, what if you wake up someday, and you're 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written; or you didn't go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy; or you were just so strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life, of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid? it's going to break your heart. don't let this happen.
YOU ARE READING
for those days.
Randomfor those days, when you can't seem to pick yourself back up.
