I always want more. Always.
More wine, more Swedish fish, more sex, more time, more adventures, more music..
This weekend I ran The Diva half marathon in the outskirts of San Fran.
Immediately after a shower and some animal style fries:
Drove back down to LA.
And then went to my friend’s fight and died of exhaustion.
And then woke up early the next morning and helped** my girl move into the empty room in my apartment.
**I use the word “helped” loosely. I was there for moral support, my vast experience with moving, and to drive the car behind the Uhaul.
Yet I apparently didn’t push myself hard enough. My body isn’t even sore like wtf.
So here is my declaration to take it up a whole new notch. Including food. Just because I spend a crap ton of time running and spinning and yoga-ing doesn’t mean I get to eat so much crap. Like what a waste. It’s summer time and time to kill it.
My one best friend now lives with me so there’s no reason to always go out for drinks and dinner. Bad for my ass, as well as my wallet.