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Get the Funk Out
Psychiatrists HATE this one weird trick
In my crusty ratboy phase (mercifully over now, I hope), when I lived in San Francisco, I struggled. Despite my obvious and jarring lack of rhythm, for years I stayed funky, smelling and feeling nasty. It’s easy and unhelpful to recite the platitudes (true as they are, which just makes them more obnoxious): exercise, therapy, meds, clean your damn room.
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