I was thirsty. I’ve noticed that I’m not as thirsty as I was when cycling 20 k a day. This may seem obvious, but I was drinking as I cycled. Maybe I lose more water than average people. I do sweat a great deal when exercising. Not everybody does. I know, I know, “horses sweat, men perspire women simply glow”.
I ate two muffins yesterday. It was a major relapse. I haven’t eaten a cake in a long time. I could blame my partner; he put 8, yes 8 in the fridge; he eats a couple of sweet things a day and is convinced he’ll live into his nineties because his father did. Have I broken a code? I’m a little angry. Well, we taurus put up with a lot before we snap.
My 20 year old is convinced that when you miss-type a word the algorithm remembers it wrong and substitutes automatically. This isn’t true. I’ve never typed “thrusters” until now. I’m typing “thrusters” because my tablet substituted it for the plural of taurus, which it does not recognise. Why would I type “thrusters”?
I’m sure if I had a sugar app, I would not have relapsed. I’m also dreaming up an app for depressed people that gives them a massive smile and tick when they get up in the morning.
I’m not depressed, though I was in 2017, after I had to do the difficult thing and allow my daughter to make the choice to go and live with her father. Was it really a choice?
My partner was explaining today, after I chided him for leaving cheese rolls in the fridge to tempt me (so basically junk food), that it is better for me to eat the cheese rolls than a sugary yoghurt or a bar of chocolate. He’s right, maybe. Yet maybe there is a third way; a better choice.
I’m not used to making excuses. I’m not sure why this is. I’ve always been on time for work; always turned up; never been one for sickies. The odd thing is the less I do, the sicker I am, lately. I mean in terms of going to my doctor not taking time off work; I don’t see it as an option; never have. Between 2013 and 2019 I’ve visited my doctor more times than in 47 years of life.
I think I’m suffering from artist’s sickness; a slow melting of the soul.
What is love, if not reciprocated? As my father used to say. Love is something you do.
all my love,