Something strange happened today: I was productive. Super productive. 
I read all of the journal articles I had brought home for the weekend. As opposed to them just getting to see my bedroom from the inside of my bag. 
And I think something clicked at some point and at least a couple of my selves know what we’re doing. Maybe. 
I then went and ran. 14.5 miles. 
Sustained a few injuries. Because I’m a clumsy cow and went arse over tit on an invisible obstacle. But I like to think that just officially makes me a hardcore runner. Right?! 
Then, having arrived back home and keeping my movements of the evening to an absolute minimum due to the fact that it hurts to walk and sit down and stand up and breathe, I put my time to good dull use by getting on top of some marking. Yeas. I officially have no life. 
But at least I can tell my parents what a good girl I’m being eh?! 
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