a self-diagnosed terminal illness

Some girlfriends and I have discussed how 30 has been the year of physical ailments.  We know all the 50+ year olds all think we are pathetic, completely ridiculous and being melodramatic for thinking our bodies began to fail us at 30, but we believe it.  

Headache are brain tumors.  
         Abdominal pain, uterine cancer of course.  
    General chronic aches and pains and numbness, 
               serious signs of M.S.  
 Anxiety, heart attack.  
            The list goes on.

If I think about this honestly, the only true terminal illness I have is procrastination.  My application for GVSU is due tomorrow and I have still not completed writing the required essays.  

There's a man at the coffee shop who seems to be growling right now.  I love this coffee shop.

This is my face looking out at the runners I am jealous of on this beautiful somewhat "spring" afternoon.  My terminal illness often has terrible consequences.   

This is me yesterday, eating a mango and watching Outsourced on Hulu instead of writing the essays.  Dumb.

My reward for finishing the essays? 

Yes, this 30 year old is still motivated by rewards.


A massage at 8pm this evening.