Surprising amount of work to do after a conference.
The website was playing silly buggers with me this morning but I kicked it a bit and it's fine now. Among things that will not be finding their way onto the website are some candid shots of me looking a right fat fucker. One of the disadvantages of not pushing children around all day is that I've put on the weight lost when pushing children around all day. Fat-fuckerdom is no fun, although you do get to eat a fair bit.
Despite a reputation that stretches as far as Paris, I drink only occasionally now. Due to my being a walking pharmacy and the fact that a couple of glasses of wine can give me a migraine, it's not always worth it. A pack of twelve Sumatriptan costs as much as four bottles of cheap wine. You don't need to do the math(s).
What with the lungs being pretty much sub-standard for the last half-year (turns out there was a lurking chest infection on top of asthma), exercise has been - well - not even really on the list. The list has had one thing on it - namely to start feeling better.
But in the meantime I've become a blubber magnet. This does lousy and confusing things to your self-image. I have two arguments going on in my head and neither of them are very sensible.
Argument 1: that the extra fat (it's not the biggest ever I have been, but it just feels it having downsized last year) should not matter and that men should be attracted anyway, dazzled by my enormous personality. Yeah, that's just rubbish. If I were offered, as a sort of taste test, two chaps and one was nicely muscled and one had spent the last three years eating cake and crisps, to the detriment of his musculature, I need not tell you which I'd prefer. (Also, I wouldn't want somebody who would eat my crisps).
Argument 2: that seeing as I'm a bit porky anyway, I might as well go on one of those websites where chaps actively seek out the Larger Lady. That always has to be capitalised, by the way. But then I think fuck it, why would I want to go out with someone who likes me just because I am a Larger Lady? (On the plus side, he would feed me crisps). I fear I may actually be a bit too skinny for some of those fat-fanciers anyway.
So those two argue round my head while I try not to look at my reflection. The logic there is that if I can't see what I look like, I'm invisible. In my head I'm about 5ft 10 and leggy. The reflection keeps getting it wrong.
I've started taking a pile of fruit to work each day. It's going to take a long time to get there, but at least I can breathe now, which is always a good thing.