Dear Diary,
I just had a friend congratulate me on breaking 250. I told him thanks and told him he could tell me again in a few days since I'm just hanging around here. Up and down, up and down. Huh? Ok. And up. Good one Diary. What the f*** is up with the yoyo? Don't try to play me out. I can do that on my own. In many ways I have. Cupcakes. Cake cakes. Celebrated yesterday with family and friends. I had a cupcake in my hand to put away when I was cleaning up. TLO asked how many I had. I put it away as I had planned and then answered her like I was talking to you. Two and a half b***h! She said who you calling a b***h!?! She then screamed U. N. I. T. Y. and punched me in the nose. I got me a down a** girl on my team. She beat my a** down. Nope. Names not Bonnie or Clyde. Why do you ask? Ahh. Speaking of ice cubes, she gave me some to get the swelling down in my snot locker area. She had told me earlier in the day that my nose was gonna spread. I had no clue she was speaking prophetically. To get the swelling down in the belly I rode out with the IBWC, uh, I mean the EBG. Twenty four miles. The bike is cool and all, but I have to do something to kick this crap into gear and move out of this space. I was stuck at 259 for a few days and once I got over the hump I was good. Haven't gotten over this hump yet. Up and down. Up and down. In and out. In and out. Oops. Shouldn't be thinking about burgers. Huh? You were thinking something else. Diary, you're a nasty muthaf***a.
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