You are either stupid or don't like drinking

And because it amused me no end, here is the only response I have had to my drinking contest:

mensagem to me

leia depois questione isto pode mudar sua vida... pois a minha ja esta mudando....

>> LEIA AQUI! <<

I ran that through a couple of different translation services and came up with very little, which leaves me to conclude that it is most likely poorly spelled Spanish. I have no idea what the significance of the name mensagem is. I'm pretty sure it's a spam email. Thus the title of this post is aimed squarely at you, dear reader. Was it too difficult? Or am I writing for an audience (and I find this unlikely in the extreme) of teetotalers? If it's the first problem, I'll make it easy on you. Guess one of the drink names that I made up, and I'll owe you a beverage of your choice. If it's the second there is nothing I can do for you.

It's all about trying to be grounded in reality, none of that altered state bullshit

Two nights ago, I put on some shorts and a t-shirt, laced up my boots, and ran. I ran clumsily, my long legs stretching out like I'm trying to reach the shot glass on the top shelf. Feet hit the ground loud, and heaving for air after I counted to four three times, one, two, three, four. I had shin splints after ten fours.

I ran at the beach, it's not far from my house. I thought, This is a reasonable goal. I can run to the beach and back. My leg's not that bad. I could feel my right foot swelling inside my boot, and I started to favour my right leg about halfway down the hill. Now my left foot was louder on the ground, and in my head ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR. I told myself that pain grounds me in reality, holds me to my physical being. I ran, less in control as the hill got steep in the last bit before the beach. I turned around at the lights so I wouldn't have to stop, turned my back on the ocean. And ran back up the hill to my house.