Steven's working on my room. Not sure if you can call it a room when it doesn't actually have four walls, but still. One day, it'll be a room. Probably in 80 years when we die and our estate sells it to some slum lord who slaps up some panels and rents it out to the poverty stricken who don't care that the kitchen taps leak.
two things: one to do with running, the other with my fastly-deteriorating fashion sense
I've started running again. I'm not sure if I ever "officially" stopped, but I only ran twice in August, totalling about nine miles, so I kind of felt like when I restarted in September that I was, well, restarting. This is probably not even blog-worthy. It would probably be better served disappearing into the chasm that is facebook, but I need blog topics, so here it is. I once had a friend (coughcoughangelacough) who said that she didn't run outside because she was afraid that just maybe, she ran "funny," and people would see her. Being an awesome friend, I insisted that surely she didn't. I lied. I have never even seen her run. I have just recently decided that she does run funny. Wanna know why? (as if spell check didn't underline 'wanna') Everyone runs funny. Quite seriously, everyone . I prefer to run outside, because the treadmill sucks my will to live, and a mile or two in I turn into a sighing, eye-rolling teenager, o
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