I’ve been a bit quiet this week, and that’s because I haven’t really had much to talk about. I haven’t been 100% on plan, though I haven’t been terrible either, but most of all I’ve been making real choices based on whether I want something or not rather than just reacting to whatever emotion I’m feeling at the time. Tomorrow I’m out with little brother and sister, then since I haven’t really made much progress weight-wise since, hmm, April or so, September and October are going to be spent absolutely smashing the hell out of my goals.
There was an iffy moment on Thursday where I thought I may have to go back to work (scary prospect) but it seems now that I’m not back until the 5th of September as planned. Fingers crossed. So from tomorrow it’s going to be a 20k-a-day jobby again. Tomorrow I’ll be in London, and I used to just get a Travelcard which will take you anywhere in central London you want to go for the whole day. It costs about £25 these days (I remember when it was £13… Wow…) but my tube days are in the past. Now once I get into central London I walk everywhere it’s feasibly possible to get to on foot. Which is pretty much anywhere to be honest, as long as I don’t have a time limit. My travel costs tomorrow should be about a fiver, which is much better for the bank balance, and better for my legs too. Plus the weather is supposed to be really nice, and who wants to be stuck underground with someone’s armpit in your face at the best of times?
The reason I don’t have much to talk about is because I’ve been allowing myself a week of pure indulgence, and I’m not talking about food. Although today has been an exception (I’ll explain why in a mo) I have been having wonderful amounts of sleep and finally, finally, I feel like me again. I feel perfectly happy, healthy and energised. Saturday night I slept for ten hours followed by a three hour afternoon nap. And my sister and I agree on this point – it’s perfectly reasonable to count any sleep up to three hours as a nap, and anyone who says otherwise is just plain wrong. I finished embroidering a flower in the evening, then I started reading The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. I tried to watch the series that recently came out on Channel 4, but I couldn’t get along with it because of the adverts and how television is produced around them. They have to make them so that you don’t lose interest during the ad break, which affects the flow of the story. Books are normally better anyway, so I thought it would be easier to just read it. So I did, and I finished at 5am today. Unfortunately I was bitterly disappointed with the total cop-out of an ending (seriously, I can’t stand bad endings in books and this is right up there with the worst of them) and I can’t understand why it’s rated so highly. Why aren’t people furious? I do believe the first series ends where the novel ends, and that the story will be picked up from there. Which may give me the resolution I crave, but it’s not the way I would have preferred it. I have to let it go!
This week I have also read Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman, which I’ve read before but it’s been a while (like I say, it’s been a week of indulgences) and today has been spent reading graphic novels, specifically the Sandman series which is also by Neil Gaiman (and others). Since reading Watchmen some time ago, which I LOVED (it’s also one of my absolute favourite films) I’ve wanted to read more comics/graphic novels/whatever, but with the long-running stuff I have no idea where to start. So the Sandman series is perfect as it’s contained in 12 or so volumes – it’s not too overwhelming for me. If I wanted to read Batman for instance, where on earth do you begin? How would one find the time in their life to read everything? And how could one afford it. It’s just too big for my lil ol’ mind to contemplate.
Friday was a busy day I suppose. I drove my brother to work and back because he picked up a suit on his lunch break and (quite sensibly) didn’t think it prudent to attempt cycling home with it, and just as I was about to go into the hairdressers my sister asked me to come and pick her up because she sliced a fair old chunk of her finger off with a brand new bread knife. She wouldn’t listen to sensible suggestions like seeing a nurse in a walk-in clinic, she wanted my mum (who is notoriously bad with coping with any kind of difficult situation) to administer the first aid. So by the time I got out of the hairdressers she’d already made her way back to mine on the train. I suppose she just wanted her mam!
As usual my latest hair cut also means trying to quiet my inner voice which is telling me that I have made a mistake, that I have had it cut too short, that I look too masculine, that you can see too much of my face… I think I do look quite boyish from certain angles, but I can’t answer why that should be a bad thing. It isn’t a bad thing! Without thinking, if I catch myself in the mirror, I love my hair cut. And it feels nice on my head. It’s easy to style in the morning, and above all it’s just… me. It’s a reflection of my personality for all to see, I’m not hiding a thing.
What doesn’t help is when I see someone I haven’t seen in a while, like today, who after saying hello just blurted out ‘I liked your hair better long’. The last time I saw this person I looked like this:
It truly astounds me the amount of people who thought that was better. Are we not seeing the same thing? Like the ending of the Handmaid’s Tale, I need to stop trying to figure it out or I’m going to lose my marbles. Thankfully each time I get a new haircut it becomes less of a big deal, although people’s rudeness and inconsiderate comments sadly don’t seem to change. I can choose how I react to it though, and that’s the main thing.
So that’s it, not much has been happening. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll some some interesting London tales for you!
Thanks for reading,