Why hello lovelies! How art thou all today?
Praise your deity-of-choice for Erin’s latest post! It has made me feel so much more sane for feeling insane about this fat busting stuff lately. It’s not that I am doing badly, it’s sometimes you just get bloody sick of thinking about fat and plotting how to banish your fat and talking and writing about your fat. Sometimes it’s boring. There, I said it.
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I’ve had a flurry of correspondence lately in which people have questioned my mental health, so I thought I’d best clear that up! I need a disclaimer on this site that blog entries are just brief snapshots of time, capturing a fleeting thought or mood. They’re not the entire sum of a person. Most times when I write a cranky entry I’ll switch off the computer and forget all about it, then go frolick through the nearest meadow. But sometimes people take things quite literally and send me alarmed emails, so let me reassure that I am not depressed; I’m altogether mentally balanced and happy 🙂
Also, on Monday when I mentioned I was back in Scotland and it was dark outside, I was just pointing out the contrast as only hours earlier I was getting sunburn in Spain. I probably shouldn’t have used the words "post-holiday blues", but everyone gets those, don’t they? A few days of nothing but sightseeing and sitting on your arse under a blue sky, then returning to the hohum of work and an unclean bathroom always brings on a brief case of the blahs.
I also better clarify the first paragraph of this entry where I used the word "insane". I mean a gentle, non-descript kind of insanity, not Call The Authorities crazy.
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Today I turn 29. Holy crap!
SHAUNA: My twenties have been entirely about my fat! How rubbish is that!? I spent the first half busily working my way to morbid obesity, and the second half trying to come back down again!
GARETH: Well it’s not all been about the fat. You’ve done some other stuff too.
S: Like what?
G: Like moving overseas. And meeting me!
S: Hmmm. I spose so.
For the final year of my twenties I resolve to make better use of my time and be less lazy. Like not only shaving my right leg because that’s the only one the physiotherapist is going to be looking at, as I did yesterday morning. That’s shockingly lazy, and most unsettling for poor Gareth.