Oh my God, what if you wake up some day, and you're 65 or 75,
and you never got your memoir or novel written,
or you didn't go swimming in warm pools and oceans all those years because your thighs were jiggly and you had a nice big comfortable tummy,
or you were just so strung up on perfectionism and people pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life,
of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like when you were a kid?
Its going to break your heart.
Don't let this happen.
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