I forced myself to the gym last night to kick-start, ‘operation lift funk’. And I have to say, with the help of the man-mountain next to me who was competing with five foot, fiddy-fi kilo me*, I managed to finally begin the arduous process of dragging my sad and sorry, gym-less, pyjama-wearing, wine-coiffing, spaghetti-laden arse out of the slump I’ve been in this week. It wasn’t easy. I nearly cried and my whole body hurt.
I also forced myself to put some make-up and my heels on and go out for cava last night, all part of the healing process. A real, real ordeal, but my Ikea +1, with a lot of love in her heart, helped me to stay outside my bed, in the real world where other humans reside, to combat my week-long downer. A bit like an AA sponsor, but in completely and utterly the opposite way.
And today I am having lunch with Belle from Beauty and the Beast and some of her staff so I think, after some long-overdue cuddles with her and her sis, and a proper good gossip and catch up with her mum and dad, I think the road to recovering my usual pizazz ,vim, vigour and witty repartee, will be a little shorter. The sun is shining, the music is on, I’m writing. It’s all good.
*yeah, good job big man you beat me. In the static elliptical trainer race. What a hero. But also, I must thank you very much for putting your beautifully toned arms within licking distance of me.