This was a bad week. I have wanted to eat a Pizza, Chipper and
Chinese all in one night. Fighting the
urge to eat really bold food, while you have on your fork, a steamed piece of
broccoli is nothing short of a miracle. Eating with boys is bad. There was laden in front of me a Hogwarts
style take away banquet and I managed to politely say no actually (it was more
like, “go F&%k yourselves). Don’t
ask me how I did it.
Have you ever gone to the cinema
and had nothing? I did. I spent more
attention on the noisy guy in front of me with the buttery popcorn than the
film. I never realised how good butter popcorn
smells and have you ever noticed how the butter glistens against the light of
the screen? No, well I did. After the
cinema I went to my niece’s engagement party and drank slimline tonic water
with NO gin. This was torture. I really wanted a drink. Everyone was in great spirits and everyone
was full of great spirits (being Vodka, Rum and Gin).
Later on that week I went for a
walk in St Catherine’s Park. A lovely
spot to walk in the pissing rain. As my
athletic pal Lucy thundered through the woodland setting without skipping a
beat I stumbled along behind her sweating like a small hospital and willing
myself to fall down the steep hill into a tree just so I could abandon the walk
and catch my breath that I was pretending was normal. Once it was over I was delighted I did it,
after all, it got me off the couch.
Things went from bad to worse
when I returned to the house and my seventeen year old dog (Flow) had a seizure. I had to call my partner at work, how she
deciphered what I was saying between the crying and the snotting I don’t know
but she came home from work to bring me to the twenty four hour vet. At the vets I continued to wail and cry while,
poor Flow ended up mad out of it on Benzos and Valium. When we got home that night I poured myself
several G&T’s while lying on Flow’s bed telling her how much I loved her
like a crazy person.
From worse it got dreadful. I met the lovely Caoimhe of Magazine + to have a look at the proof that went for print of the first column of my challenge. As I opened the article in the coffee shop in
Talbot Street I could feel tears streaming down my face. The article stood there, a full page, I knew
at the time that Evan had to be a wolf in sheeps clothing. I had visions of me storming into his studio
and drop kicking him ninja style in his (there is no polite way of saying it)
man tackle. It was definitely worse than
I look on a daily basis. Anyone who knows me knows I
would never step out of the house looking like that. The image that accompanied
the article was horrendous. I didn’t
recognise that whale of a woman in it. I
couldn’t even bear to read the article and as I write this I still haven’t
looked at it.
I can only say that the image
that was printed alongside my first article will be forever engrained on my
mind and if nothing else will be a constant reminder of why I am doing this.
Week three, 8 pounds down, I blame the one pound loss on stress and gin.
