Tuesday 20th July 2019

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Well, hello to you all on this shite ball of a rainy Tuesday afternoon. I am so tired my eyes feel like effing sandpaper and you could use my eye bags as war-time trenches.


Today, I had promised myself that I would join the gym. Please, stop laughing and stay with me for a second. A gym has just opened up like just next to where I sell my soul to Capitalism (work) every day, and it’s meant to be ace. Plus, they do Barre classes on a Tuesday evening and I a) need to start exercising so I can continue to eat literally everything with a side of cheese and not keel over and die at 35 and b) I used to be a dancer (in a very different way to I am now; less mini-skirts and pole twerking and more pointe shoes and ballet buns) and loved it, so quite fancy getting back into it in some way. Anyway, the long and short of it is this, as I left for work this morning I stood with the front door open, staring out into the rain and weighing up whether or not I should pack my gym stuff to join and attend my first class this evening. I didn’t. And then, mid-way through my morning commute, a sense of guilt tried it’s best to sneak around me. But I refuse to feel guilty for taking time off. Having a break and listening to your body when it’s tired or low is as equally valid and important part of your routine and life as putting in the effort, whatever it may be. My worth isn’t determined by my productivity. And neither is yours.


All I wanna do is go home, masturbate and eat crumpets. And, other than the fact that I’ve got no crumpets, I see no problem in that at all. Actually, it sounds like a pretty perfect plan for this kind of Tuesday. And guess what? The gym isn’t going anywhere. I can join tomorrow. Or on Thursday. Or next month if that suits me better.


I don’t love the rain (mainly for what it does to my hair and fake tan) but it sure is a welcome break from the scorching temperatures of last week, feeling like I was going to pass out at any given time and having to sleep naked and legs akimbo, fan pointed directly at my vag. Plus, I go through significantly less chub rub in temperatures less Hell-like.


When I’m not complaining about the weather or my lack of motivation or how tired I am, I am actually having a damn good time. Things are wonderful between my gorgeous chap and I. My hair is really doing what I want it to the majority of the time. Oh, and it’s National Friendship Day. So HELLO and THANK YOU to my beautiful friends, namely the Ravens, who keep me fucking sane and make me laugh until I wee myself. You are the best, and I will love you forever n ever.



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