The time is prime for whine! I’m so tired. Working six or seven days a week is taking its toll, and in addition there’s too many late nights chatting away to that lovely boy I mentioned. I manage to get through to about 10am before I’m ready to nod off.
There’s alarm bells clanging in my head. The more I work and less I sleep, the more slack I become in other areas. I’ve only been getting to the gym once or twice a week, and I know that’s not enough for what I want to achieve. I used to spring out of bed on Sunday mornings and do two classes, but most Sundays these days I’m at work.
My eating has been slipping too. My sister and I used to go shopping at the same time each week and plan our meals. But we work such different hours sometimes we’re ships in the night. Too many times I’ve eaten toast for dinner or bought lunch at work instead taking my salad. Then there’s all that chocolate…
I’m not writing enough either. I’ve got pages and pages of ideas for stories and blog posts about my UK experiences, but every time I sit down to write the screen is a blur. And this in turn makes me cranky and frustrated, because I supposed to be over here for fun and adventure but all I end up doing is working coz we need the extra job if we want any hope of travelling further.
Bloody hell. I just stopped writing this for ten minutes and fell asleep here at my desk. My professionalism is astounding!
So, something has to change. We are both feeling so listless and cranky. We will just have to MAKE time to get organised. I know if I can get my eating right, I will be more motivated to exercise. And when I exercise, I am more motivated to do everything. I’m just way off-balance right now.
My mother called last night and dropped a wee bombshell. She’s coming over to visit! All the way from Australia, good lord. She’ll be arriving on April 15, which is four months from Monday. Now I know they always say that you can’t use other people as motivation to lose weight, but come on. It’s my Mum! When she arrives it will be over a year since I’ve seen her. I’ve already dropped a size or two since our tearful goodbye at the airport, so it’s too delicious to not want to put in a bit of extra effort and look just that little bit more smaller than April 2003.
Well I’m needing a kick up the arse in terms of motivation, so that’s going to be something that spurs me on, dodgy or not. I just want her to see how I’m managing to look after myself on the other side of the world, in spite of lack of finances and creature comforts and the prevalance of lard in the Scottish diet
I’m trying hard to sort out my issues with Getting My Gear Off™. The other night I crashed at his place after we’d been out to see some bands. My top was reeking of smoke, and I’d forgotten my PJs. We’re laying there in the dark and he says, "Man, the smoke from the club is really clinging to me tonight!" and I piped up that it was actually my clothes. He offered to go get me t-shirt to sleep in. I quickly refused.
"But why?" he said. "It’s no trouble really, you shouldn’t have to sleep in your nice clothes."
"It’s fine, don’t worry. I’ll just sleep without my top on."
"Well that I don’t mind, but it’s freezing."
"It’s okay, honest."
I could see him half-smiling half-puzzled frowning in the dark. "I demand to know why you’re refusing to wear my crappy clothes!"
But of course I just laughed and took my top off and told him not to worry about it. This is how ridiculous I am – I would rather sleep and freeze with no top on (well it was dark and under covers) than risk him getting me one of his t-shirts and not being able to fit into it.