Running.

I tell people I'm training for a marathon. I'm telling you that to excuse my ridiculous exercise habits that seem to result in nothing more than my being out of breath. I don't look any better than I ever have, I don't feel that much better, I still can't really run a mile without wanting to die or needing a lap to catch my breath, and you still can't see my collar bones.

When all else fails, diagnose yourself with a problematic thyroid gland - this way you can excuse the fact that you work out like a fucking maniac and see nothing.

Went to a party at a church-turned-home. I told the kid whose house it was that his roof might fall down if I walked inside. He told me the people who lived there before him were Jews. The roof didn't cave. Drove home from Mount Kisco high and slightly buzzed. Spoke to Mclean the whole way home but couldn't tell you what we talked about or how I made it to Heathers, or home for that matter.

My life is sounds like a bad teen soap opera.