I woke up feeling threatened and depressed. When I sat down to do breathing exercises, I thought what’s the point, what’s the point at all if through out the day I am living more in my imaginations than anywhere else. I felt weak and stupid and vulnerable. But because I nurture hope now and then, I dragged myself out for a jog but an hour later when I am sitting down and typing this, I have no memory of how the jog was or what I saw.

Stepped in for a cold shower, because that’s a thing now; cold in the morning, hot in the night, dabbed baby lotion all over my body because it helps me breathe, sat at my desk and found this:

To The Women Whose Lives Are Not Love Stories

… and now my day is already smiling down at me. I have so much to do.

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