Goldfish

I did an 11 mile run today.

Its so difficult to admit when I've accomplished something.  The slightest slip of the tongue will give me a headache.  Sometimes I think I'm order bound.
Its this condition from the books I read where a character can't tell lies without the order inside of him or her causing feedback.  Everything stable has order.  Iron has order, water has order, air probably very thin order.  And then there is chaos, which is basically destruction.  Chaos is almost always fire.

I didn't run the whole thing.  I might have been able to.  My final time was less than an hour and a half.  My friend did the run with me and was around 5 minutes behind me in the end.  Another friend rode a scooter... I was right behind him almost the whole time.
I got home with these two friends where we celebrated with a glass of chocolate milk.  Then we went out for some sort of ice cream dumplings at Trader Joes; I had 2.  I volunteered to walk home because it would make the rideshare easier.  Still... I shouldn't have had 2.  It wasn't even half the size of my palm.  I shouldn't be upset

I cried today.
I read about the life of someone who has suffered more than I ever will.  She has Dissociative Identity Disorder because of the memories she had to erase, and after reading I curled up into a ball and imagined what I would do if I met her.  I want to find her.  I'll admit I've been searching for her, and I'd provide her with a place to stay.  I was thinking what it would be like to hug her but my mind kept making me push her away after the imagined embrace.  I couldn't risk hurting her... So although we would hug I would always pull back like something stabbed me.  I'd let her run away, except I'd follow her.  And when she can't run anymore I'll say "let's start walking home" and then I'll hand her a water bottle.  I'll show her what I do...  where I work out to the closest I've been to oblivion and then I refresh the life with a little bit of sugar.  Maybe some chocolate milk.  And my favorite part of the dream was that if she wanted to give back to me I was able to invent the perfect gift.  I had a room with white walls and a hardwood floor and in this room were canvases and brushes and trays for paint, but no paint.  Instead... there were razors.

I have pictures given to me by my ex-girlfriend of whatever she was feeling at the moment.  They are all painted with her blood.  I requested once she draw a goldfish for me, and she drew a dead smiling goldfish with bubbles coming out of its mouth saying...

stay beautiful