This title is all encompassing. As I mentioned before, I’m meant to be in full on house renovation mode but now it appears Chris (my beloved) has flu, full on shivering retching flu, not the man kind (apologies men but…,in this overly PC world how soon before that expression becomes obsolete too? Seriously gender neutral Santa, give me strength!)
I’m literally dreaming of the house and its contents. I should say I do feel sorry for the previous occupant. While they only lived there a couple of years with their 2 children, 1 fully grown with partner in tow, She was still expected to do all the house work, while trying to hold down a job and ferrying said children to whatever theatre workshop pub, club or restaurant they chose (door mat Mama, much like me to be fair.) Anyhoo she brought them up so their attitude to and aptitude for cleaning and throwing away things that may be useful 1 day was the same as hers, fast forward 2 years and… Add to that time constraints from the previous house move (working, Mum’s taxi service etc) the vast majority of things that should really have been thrown out from the previous house moved right along with them in to a 1930s house that had belonged to an old person who hadn’t decorated since the 60s.
So here I am writing a blog no-one will read in the hope of getting the rising sense of panic to subside. Also overwhelming, the feeling of dread when I catch a glimpse in the mirror when I get out of the shower. We have a half height mirror above the basin in, it only show the top half, being a pear shaped woman hides a multitude of sins but clambering over the side of the bath past the shower curtain while desperately trying to stop it touching me, my peripheral vision sees the rest. Christmas has been unkind. In the same way small changes to improve your health, physique, diet (urgh that word again) add up to a big difference over time, so do small changes in the other direction. Since September when I had my wonderful grandchildren for a few weeks while their beautiful bi-polar Mama rested her weary mind in hospital. My eating and training habits have changed dramatically. The steps toward those changes were so small or the situation was so large they were almost imperceptible the difference dare I say damage to my physique not so much. But hey it gives me a goal and I am very much the kind of person who performs better with a goal.
I am an emotional eater, I eat anger, upset and every flipping thing in between. I also reward myself with food! Done well in the gym, have a brownie, it’s Saturday have a vanilla cappuccino, made Jenson eat something that wasn’t a nutella sandwich, eat the crusts of the damn marmite sandwich and so on. That said I’m not huge, unless you’re an American size 0 fitspo then I’m morbidly obese. Many people would be delighted to be nudging 50 (47 on new years) having carried 6 kids to look like me, genetics weren’t bad but that carries its own guilt. Why aren’t I grateful so I’ll have a donut.
To be fair life isn’t bad, I’m happy with my lot, a lottery win and a team of cleaners or a nanny for a few days would be better. The control freak in me would need to see what the team of cleaners were up to and show them a better way haha. I’ve never written a diary, I was alway too busy moaning when I was younger and living as I got older to have any desire to but I have a better understanding just from writing these last 2 days why people document stuff, #therapywriting #overwhelmed #life