- August 7th, 13:09
I hate running. I think it's fucking gay. Just the monotonous dull pounding of feet into the ground again and again and again. It's gay. Like, back when I was doing my thing in a certain time and place and at a different point in my life I was required to run. And I hated it then too. At first.
People talk about the "runner's high." Physiologically it's simmple. Endorphins and shit and circulation and brain activation yada yada. I could talk about what I think is actually going on but instead I'll just tell you a story here:
A roll of paper towels with the paper removed lies on a table and it is long and round but not and there are lines which ??? are fucking on it otay. Before it came to be as it is now in real time space as I look at it now it was surrounded by neat little squares of paper which are commonly known as "paper towels." Well not surrounded but you get the idea and, incidentally, this object is referred to as a "paper towel roll." This paper towel roll as it was then did not come alone but with a companion. A fellow roll of paper towel which was similar to it but different. Y'know, no two things are exactly the same in every respect. Idiot. So, anyways, these two rolls of paper towels which you may now choose to have dance in your head or not were once encased by a sheet of plastic polyethalene whatever the fuck and were carried by someone, in this case, me, the writer of this post, to
I prefer dance.