This nasty little war between the person I think I am (the healthy superfit person I so desperately want to be) and the woman with itsy bitsy pain and itsy bitsy discomfort and a catalogue of agonies, general agonies, way too supersensitive towards potentially dramatic symptoms and all that shit.
Get off it.
Waste of time.
(Infinite space expands.)
From the window of Klaus Staeck's gallery in Heidelberg.
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