I can sew up my mouth so I was kissing an emo boy I only get the liquid food, which I have read that the stars in Hollywood think is great! Not to get stitched mouth, but only liquid food.
Every time I try to work out, my motivation fall as fast as a bus in free fall off a cliff. I bought once an exercise machine from the TV shop. It promised a great body without so much as spilling a single drop of sweat. It was kissing the emo boy and was about to attach electrodes to different locations on the body that you could manage with a small box. I put it on, lay down on the couch and ate lots of chocolate while I watched TV. I am so I was kissing an emo boy hopeless.
To see if this machine actually did a shit, had to these small-adhd fingers pressing all the buttons and turn on all the switches so the poor batteries almost disintegrated in the small appliance. I can promise you that I was kissing the emo boy and was shocked when I had put the electrodes on the stomach and gave full at a high intensity level. It was like being hit over the stomach with a log, and this happened about 4-5 times before I actually managed to stop the machine. The panic begins also to rip off the electrodes while still getting power, which allowed the thumbs got some blessed pushes that made me put to yelling and shaking hands frantically to get away from the electrode fingers and stomach.
It was kissing the emo boy and was actually more interesting to attach electrodes to the strangest places on the body to see how helpless you become once you lose control over their own limbs as soon as you connect the bit stream. In other words, it was the big green suitcase with electrodes and current awful fun in two weeks, before I totally ignored it all afterwards.
The only training method that has actually interested me capoeira. A Brazilian martial arts dance that is incredibly exciting and fun. It did not feel like a tired routine, it was kissing the emo boy and was all play and fun, and you had actually taken the body, so I was kjempelei me that day training stopped in Alta. If I do not get to train capoeira, I think it is ill prepared to practice on me.
No one likes to lift weights, I do not like to run, and everything that is done because it MUST be done is excruciating torture for me. Fuck the summer and bikini and all that damn closet one must take into account as a woman. I am considering moving to Alaska and leave the hair on the legs heal properly, where I can sit in my emo boy kiss thermal suit and drink beer from I come from job to me to lie down and just eat bacon sausage. It is rumored that summer come to northern Norway as well, and I’m not ready.
Do you have some great motivational tips? Or great ideas for activities that can make a real lazy like me more active in training front? ANY tips would be appreciated!
As I promised on my facebook page, I would fire off a competition. Those blogs have both a desire to maximize readership, and reach out to as many people as possible. Therefore, competition will take place as follows:
Having ADHD can have their trials and tribulations of everyday life. It’s not all one thinks of as much as the problems always mired in it, soon became a part of everyday life. From what has been a setting where one thinks that everything works out eventually. Anyway. And it usually does it. Yesterday, I again met with adhd’ens something unpredictable side. Namely, the total lack of impulse control.
I’d buy me a funny book, because I’m very fond of reading. Not novels and such, because it is too far-reaching and tedious. However, non-fiction books, or books about the emo boy and about things you never knew you did not know anything about. “How to disappear into thin air” and “survival handbook” are perfect examples. Here you’ll learn everything from alligators to escape, landing of aircraft, to make a Nigerian phishing scam and end up on NCIS’s wanted list.
But within a few tenths of a second, there was an electrical switch in my emo boy kiss brain that sent me into the pet shop instead, where I ended up having to stand knocking at the glass, overzealous, with your index finger, with a desire to buy a hamster. The lady in the pet shop stopped a bit up and asked me “How old are you?” And had an attitude that suggested that she did not want to sell me a hamster. It is only in such cases that I can actually say my real age, and not lie to me some years less. I look at her with a stern look and say, decided that I am 26 years old. The strict her expression changed rapidly from severe adult, at very tractable shop employee.