Blogger listens and doesn't offer witty comebacks and half-hearted consolations.

Which is about as good as a hard 10minute run that winded my lungs real good and slapped me hard in the face with that cruel Swarovski-studded glove. I like how when my mind plays tricks my body forces itself to run harder, even when I know my legs and that nasty stitch in my side is about to burst at the seams and splatter YinGuts all over the pavement.

There wasn't so much smoke and smog, quite a feat since my running route takes me past one of the busiest roads on this forsaken island. Not much traffic, no random construction workers ogling at my cellulite bits and leering at my haggard face. Yeah, they've bad taste to ogle at someone who looks three times her age without make-up.

One final note, I hate being this idiotic git who feels sorry for people even though I know it's their damn fault they landed themselves in their mess. Damnit.