Monday Monday

Two things have made this a bad Monday:

1. Being really really hungover, and having to almost throw up in the toilet at work several times.

2. Reading what I blogged yesterday. I suppose I could take it down, but that's not really my style, and besides it was true.

Oh, I don't know. One minute I think this blog is a good idea, the next I start to panic that He/Nambo/Beano/any other number of people who really shouldn't be allowed inside my head sometimes will read this and start to hate me.

God I get depressing when I'm hungover. Ignore me, I shall be back on form tomorrow. I'm trying to compile a list of sexy movie scenes that don't involve sex, so perhaps I shall play it safe and post that.

Toodle pip mes amies xx

Picture This

I was trying to put together a photo board of pictures of me and various friends from the last 5 years or so. Went through the big box of photos that sits under my writing desk, and actually found myself rather tortured by the experience. Obviously, of course, the fact that I was quite a bit thinner a couple of years ago, but also, I came across a few photos that rather shook me up.

Firstly, a photo of me and Beano* looking frighteningly beautiful and hedonistic, lotus eating at some point in 2001. It's bizarre because I haven't thought about him for ages, but looking at that picture catapulted me straight back into those days of darkness, guilt and selfishness.

*Beano is the male version of me - we fucked for a year during 2001/2 up until just before I met Him. I cheated on two boyfriends with him. He is irresistible, dangerous, and a terrifyingly bad influence. I was so infatuated with him I thought I'd die from it.

Honestly, for a moment or two I felt myself becoming the person I was then, and it frightened me. I could see him, feel him, practically taste him, as though he was right there in the room with me. I suppose there are some ghosts we can never quite exorcise.

Secondly, a picture of me and Nambo at a fancy dress party, arms round each other, faces pressed together. He is one of my best friends, so it's understandable, but then the next picture in the box, obviously taken later in the evening, shows Nambo and I in a corner, talking intently, faces so close together as to be almost kissing, looking like the lovers we never quite were. That was the moment that we finally acknowledged, and dismissed, the way we really felt about each other. It was/is still completely the right decision. It was/is still one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. He was the person who held my hand as I was preparing to walk down the aisle, and the person I will always look to for support, but in another world... oh dammit, this introspection and playing 'what ifs' isn't going to help anyone.

I love Him, and I have never doubted or regretted that. But god, sometimes the sacrifices are hard.

Talking Drunken Gibberish

Ah, blogging under the influence...

It's Sunday, it's the day before payday, and therefore the only option available is to assess our financial situation for the month to come (bad), go to the supermarket (torture) and drink ridiculous quantities of expensive Pinot Grigio left over from the pre-wedding and just discovered in the cleaning cupboard. It's amazing how much brighter the end of Janury looks through the bottom of a finely crafted bottle.

I've decided the week to come will be a kind of detoxy week, in which I will eat a very minimal diet and try and do daily yoga and pilates to kick start the gym routine I'll be starting next week (I'm going to join the gym. Surely a bad idea, but I have promised myself, and told too many people to back out now!)

Also, if all goes to plan and Jellie and I hit the Spitz on Saturday, it can be a perfect wine-soaked end to the week of detox purity.

Yes, so that's the plan. I'm off to get another glass of wine.

Big Messy Tears

We had out first married fight last night. And it was a big one!

The rumblings basically started when we got home from work, and He reminded me that He was going round to His brother Cuck's place to give Cuck's son Prince a guitar lesson. This is something He does weekly, and I hate it on principle because it costs Him time and money He doesn't have, and although Cuck is rolling in it, He feels awkward asking even for petrol money (even though they'd pay upwards of £15 an hour for a guitar teacher if He wasn't doing it for free and Cuck wasn't tight as a gnat's chuff). But, you know, fine, none of my business, whatever, I'm only the one who puts the petrol in the car and has to listen to Him moaning about it all on a regular basis.

He left at 6 and told me He'd be home by 8 latest. Now Cuck and Riptorn (his wife) and Prince and Princess live in the middle of nowhere down dark windey deserted country lanes, so understandably, I like to know when He gets there and when He's leaving, just so I know He hasn't turned the car into a fireball (I like the car, you see).

Sooo when I hadn't heard from Him by 8:30, I made a thirty second phone call to make sure He was still there/everything was okay. He told me they were talking, and He'd be home in a bit. Fine. Just as long as He's still there and not torn into chunks of flesh littered across the road.

Phone rang at 8:45 and I assumed it would be Him, so picked up (I normally screen) and instead found myself talking to someone from the National Blood Service. Now I gave blood for the first time a few weeks ago, and I admit to having been a little nervous that they might find some nasty or other lurking in my blood (what with the past sluttiness - even though I was almost always very careful - and all), so I went white, had to sit down, and prepared for the worst. Turns out he just rang to tell me that as I have a very rare blood group (B-, I'm tres rare) they would ring me from now on every time I was ready to donate again, because they really really need my (non-HIV, non-hep C, non-STD - I checked) blood. All good, but still left me with a major adrenaline rush (not a good one) and bad case of the shakes.

So when He rang at 9:15 to say He was on the way home, I was two thirds of the way down a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc, and not in the best of moods. I snappily insisted that I wasn't pissed off at all - blatantly not the case - and almost managed to get through the conversation until He dropped the real clanger: "It embarrassed me when you called. It made me look 'under the thumb'."

Now I won't trouble you with all the screaming crying and swearing that ensued, but it could be summarised thus: Cuck and Riptorn have a shit marriage, hate each other, cheat on each other, and chuck money at their kids and their marriage to try and make up for the fundamental fact that they shouldn't be together. Therefore their opinion counts for precisely nothing, as, quite frankly, does anyone else's opinion on our marriage, and the fact the He is embarrassed by me ringing, and that he even cares about their opinion or the stupid snide comments they might make is the biggest insult He's ever come out with.

Of course, once the initial screaming and swearing stopped, I had to try and explain that to Him rationally, because He thought I was pissed off with Him staying out later than He'd said (and I really didn't care about that - I'm just not that neurotic or clingy). In the end He did apologise, and said He didn't mean to put it quite the way He did. It took about an hour, but we kissed and made up in the end (though I didn't shag Him - I have pride).

Anyway, the point is, we had our first row. And rightly or wrongly, sometimes it's good to scream and cry at someone who can't just walk out. And who, most probably, will still love you afterwards.

Hey, Cute Librarian!

3 cool things happend to me in the library today:

1. I had a very interesting conversation about Love in the Time of Cholera with a good looking student

2. I found a whole rack of obscure foreign films that you can borrow for £1 a week

3. I was mistakn for a librarian (must be the vintage-style secretary skirt) by a very pretty boy who tried to attract my attention by saying 'Hey, cute librarian!'

Libraries rock. Fact.

S-D S F - The Sequel

So... I managed to spend £98 last night on random crap from Ikea, including:

1. An alarm clock that you can record your own alarm on (woke up to my own dulcet tones shrieking 'get up and wash your hair, you lazy cow')

2. A dimmer bedside light so He can sleep when I'm having insomnia and reading

3. A three-storey dish drainer (as you may recall, I hate and detest drying up)

4. A big picture frame to make a collage of photos from Uni that I found when clearing out my writing room

and various other random gadgets/funky things/Swedish foodstuffs.

So, craving satisfied. For at least a month or two, I hope.

Semi-Disposable Swedish Furniture

Well, it's been a long time coming, but I think I finally need to face up to my problems, confront my demons head-on, and start the twelve steps to recovery.

My name is Mookmoo, and I'm an Ikea addict.

Yes, it's true. I find myself coming up with flimsy excuses to visit its hallowed halls of Swedish loveliness, and find myself spending hundreds of pounds on excitingly flat-packed furniture. I can't even meander through the 'marketplace' section without buying at least a sexily patterned dishcloth or two. The place haunts my dreams, my daydreams, and my living room. I've even start obsessively reading the catalogue in the bath to try and get a fix...

The problem is, I'm really not a house-proud kind of person. I'm actually messy as hell, as is He, and our house looks like either a creative haven of exciting objets, or a tip, depending which way you look at it. But I do like quirky stuff, and I do like the house to look a bit different and funky, and Ikea lets me fulfill this yearning for a sexily original pad far too easily...

And the worst thing of all is, the furniture's so damn cheap I don't even have a second thought about chucking bits of it out at regular intervals and replacing them with new Ikea purchases.

(I say 'I' because although He also likes to have a funky looking house, He'd be far to lazy to do anything about it if He didn't have my Ikea addiction to contend with)

Which brings me on to tonight's planned visit. Bored of the old white bookcases, I'd like some more open, shelving effect ones, preferably in wood, and with some ineterestingly different bookends. My books are feeling stifled (or so I told Him to justify it, even though the fool doesn't believe that books have feelings). And as the old bookcases only cost us £30 each and I can sell them in Loot, I can far too easily justify it.

Oh, and then I also need teatowels, place mats, bowls, picture frames...

Oh God, help me! Help me! I'm a raving addict and I need to be contained!

The Mookmoo Diet

Ways I have lost weight in the past:

1. Vodka and Ricecakes Diet: Eat unlimited quantities of ricecakes and drink unlimited quantities of vodka. Don’t eat anything else.

Pros: Losing half a stone in a week and fitting into a posh frock for Grad Ball

Cons: Being permanently drunk and smelling of ricecakes

2. Workaholic Diet: Be late with your dissertation and live in the computer centre, only eating from the vending machines (chocolate and coffee), then drown your sorrows in the evening with a bottle of wine. Duration: four weeks.

Pros: Losing two stone in four weeks

Cons: Caffeine shakes, dizziness, spending 12 hours a day in a room with geeks.

3. Yoga Diet: Irritate your friends by eating only health food, doing lots of yoga, and refusing fatty food or alcohol with a superior smirk.

Pros: Healthy body, healthy mind

Cons: You turn into an irritating, boring arsehole. And everyone tells you so.

4. Extracurricular Shagging Diet: Cheat on your boyfriend (no, not Him, an ex) with a hedonistic sex god. Feel too guilty to eat, but get exercise by shagging in exotic positions for hours at a time.

Pros: Lots of sex, lots of alcohol, lots of hedonistic behaviour

Cons: Lots of guilt, and at least one person is going to end up hating you


Ways I am trying to lose weight now:

Sensibly. Yawn. Damn Him and his ‘being dizzy from hunger isn’t healthy’. I used to like hunger dizziness. It was like being on drugs for free.

Hectic Social Whirl

I am living proof that the idea of playing hard to get works in friendship terms as much as it does in romance.

During the last few weeks of being intensely self-absorbed - work, newlywedness, dieting, Thims departure and the associated feelings - I have been perfectly nice but rather distant to everyone, partly as was busy being wrapped up in a sense of unworthiness and/or loneliness, and partly because said feelings led to paranoia that my friends don't really like me, and just tolerate me because they feel they have to.

BUT in the last few days I have been inundated with texts, calls and invitations from people all claiming they 'miss my company'. Hot damn! (If I sound a little conceited, it's because I am today - so there!).

Most excitingly, one of my invitations has been from new friend Scarfee, with whom I am going shoe shopping next week. I really do think new friendships are like dating - you start with 'safe' dates like weekday lunches (anyone can find enough conversation to last an hour), progress to after-work drinks (ditto), the maybe venture to the cinema (it's two or three hours, but for most of that you don't need conversation) and progress finally to things like shopping days, lunch up town, or nights out with the girls/lads/partners (delete as appropriate). So... Scarfee and I are at the third date kind of stage. Shopping has been introduced. Watch this space....

One More Thing

I am trying to make up for almost a week's lack of blogs you see...

After the sad departure of Thims, I had been feeling a little bit lonely and friendless. When it comes down to it, the area we live in is His territory, not mine, and although I adore our friends, most particularly the wonderful Nambo and McFrankie, they were His friends first, and if, god forbid, He and I should ever be no more, I anticipate that they all (with the possible exception of McFrankie though I wouldn't like to bet on it) would return to being His friends, and not really mine. Thims was the only friend we had round here who was actually my friend, and had loyalty squarely to me.

However, over the last week or so I have ben quietly cultivating a new friendship with the delightful Scarfee, a new work collague in another department. She is one of those people with whom I found very early on that I had a frightening amount in common with, examples as below:
1. She attended the school where I once taught watersports (no giggles please) in Singapore.
2. The last three books we each read are the same three.
3. Her favourite place in Singapore was the bookshop which was also my favourite place.
4. She likes to chat by email in work time, but abhors the use of email/text slang in the aforementioned emails.

Suffice to say, we have hit it off. I like this girl. She is also very attractive, in a healthy, glowing, girl next door kind of way, and rightly or wrongly, I do like having attractive friends. The only slight concern I have is that she is five years younger than me, and I have a fear that were we ever to be mistaken for a couple (as Thims and I/ Hunter and I/ Mathilda and I/ Homegirl and I have all been on accasion), I would be the older, uglier one. Hmmm.

Nope, still like her.

Creativity Comes Calling

And about bloody time too.

Having sorted out the spare room last weekend into a writing room, complete with new desk (beech table top, pink metal tubular legs - Ikea-build-your-own-table), and new toy stuffed snake to wrap around my neck, it amazed me that last week I felt no creative spark at all. Might have been something to do with the flu though...

But yesterday on the way home from the fruitless shopping trip (see below) I had a surge of fabulous ideas for the new novel I've been making notes on for the last month or so. Got home and immediately spent two hours on the laptop with my notes and new thoughts, and managed to knock out a decent chapter plan (they tend to change constantly, but I do like them as a notion to keep my digressions just a little more in check), and a rought draft of Chapter One. Haven't felt this happy (or relieved) in ages.

Prescription: bed rest and retail therapy

Was off sick again on Friday. Spent the morning in bed re-reading Harry Potter, and then dragged a hoover round the house and did some washing up (but not drying up. I hate drying up. I just put tea towels over the work surfaces and leave everything on them to drain.)

Felt a lot better by Saturday, but still stayed in while He went round to Rease's house to do music stuff. Amused myself by spending four hours in the bathroom lifting myself from my state of sick-bed ugliness to my usual state of slightly-too-curvy-but-reasonable-looking, which involved shaving what seemed like acres of skin, exfoliating, plucking, scrubbing, conditioning, painting, preening, la la la, and in the end made me feel a damn sight better.

I then got stupidly excited at the prospect of going out of the house for the first time in 48 hours, and insisted He pick me up on hs way home so we could go to Blockbuster and Tesco. Felt validated when the skinny young student boy in Blockbuster stared at me like all his Christmasses had come at once.

Decided that after all the illness, on Sunday I deserved some retail therapy. And so I donned my best shoes, flexed my credit card, and He drove me to the huge shopping centre, only for me to end up to finding nothing worth even trying on, let alone buying. Always the way... In the end spent £12 in Borders on 'Intimate Confessions of a London Call Girl', which I've already almost finished. Fabulous.

Inevitably, He has caught my flu, so he is tucked up in bed today while I'm at work. I am doing the reluctant nurse thing (with both my own illness and other people's, I have no patience), but to be honest it's just one more thing I/we don't need. I wouldn't mind so much, except it means that our weekly routine will be thrown completely out of whack, as I can't drive and therefore can't do things like the supermarket run solo. Stupid thing to obsess about I know, but I had a lovely evening of interior design shopping planned for tomorrow, and I don't fancy forfeiting it...

Anyway, that was my weekend. And despite certain trials, life is suddenly looking, inexplicably, a little bit up.

A Short Essay on (Work) Ethics

I feel rough. Not as rough as I did yesterday, and not really rough enough not to be in work.

HOWEVER as my boss is not in the office today, I could easily skive this afternoon and go home and learn more about interior decorating and gardening.

BUT I am going to Thims' farewell dinner tonight, at which I may be spotted by one of my colleagues, which would blow my cover and potentially land me in hot water (as we work with students, we're not supposed to act like them).

I am going to go and have lunch with Him and think it over.

Also just remembered I haven't spoken to the gloriously (im)moral Nambo (honorary big brother - not the tv kind, the sibling kind) in a while, so might seek his wise advice on this one...

Sick and Tired

Literally, not metaphorically. Have spent the last two days lying in bed/on the sofa with a foul fluey lurgy, which robbed me of the last vestiges of creativity, but on the plus side also explains the Vlad mood I've been in for the last few days (as demonstrated in the last few entries). Added to which, of course, is my monthly dose of rage hormones, giving a truly fabulous opening for my evil cow side to come to the fore. He had taken to hiding far away from me, and is now exquisitely relieved that I have gone from ranting and snapping to crying and begging for Lemsip. Don't get me wrong, I think He prefers me normal, but out of the two I know He'll choose pathetic and girly every time...

I've decided that when it comes to being ill, I have more than a little of the man-gene in me - I know women are supposed to struggle bravely on, denying their illness and keeping a stiff upper lip, and granted if there's a shoe sale to be visited or a night out to be enjoyed, I'm up there with the best of them. But if I have the option of lying around the house, and especially of missing work, I jump onto the sofa and under the duvet faster than the speed of light.

Speaking of which, I was terribly disappointed yesterday by the fall in quality of daytime tv programming since I was last off sick. I could hardly find anything worth watching, though I did learn a surprising amount about house prices, why you should never paint a hallway red and green (because it's hideous!), and how to have a perfect seafront garden.

Also spent some of my sick day wondering what to get Him for His birthday in early March. Original thought was to copycat a friend of mine's sister and book the Bubble Suite at Hotel Pelirocco, but having called them, found the only room available that weekend is the one Jellie is desperate to stay in, and I couldn't do that to her... Have already promised him that we would do Brighton, so now need to find another fab hotel to take him to... (answers on a postcard please...)

One more thing... Today is, very sadly, my lovely friend Thims' (no of course that's not her real name) last day living in Essex before she jets off to the exotic climes of... well, of the south coast actually. I shall miss her loads, but she's off to pursue fabulous career aims, so I wish her well... even though as a selfish drama queen I'd like to keep her locked up in my attic for when I need her. Bye bye Thims, good luck to you and all who sail in you... (which, as your new home is overrun with army boys, should hopefully be quite a few!)

Laters xx

That Friday Feeling

Plans for the weekend...

Have to go to a pantomime tomorrow, a trip which Mother-in-Law (henceforth known as MIL) organised, but didn't ask anyone if they wanted to go to. So me, Him, His brother and sister and their families, MIL and all her church friends (yes, it's that kind of outing) are all being loaded onto a coach at midday, driven a mercifully short way down the road, and then being subjected to a couple of hours of piss-poor panto acting. Oh joy. Note to self: take hipflask of neat vodka.

After that I'll be guaranteed to need a large drink, but will most probably be denied the bright lights (well, dim lights, but you know what I mean) of our favourite bar and will be, instead, subjected to an evening with His family, which would be alright if they didn't all bitch behind each other's backs and act nice to each other's faces, resulting in a thinly disguised layer of animosity hanging over the gathering.

Sunday I'm going to clear out the bigger of our two spare rooms (because the box room is His 'studio' and apart from the music equipment, also has the cupboard space for the boxes and boxes of crap that he refuses to sort out or get rid of. The one area where we clash spectacularly is my minimalism v his hoarding) and turn it into my writing room. I reckon I can shove the spare bed into a corner and fit my desk under the window. I managed to productively clear all the crap out of my laptop's memory, so despite the fact it's ten years old, it now wordprocesses perfectly. And what more does a girl need? So, desk, chair, laptop, window... oh, that's the thing I'm spectacularly lacking in: TIME!

At this rate the book will be finished sometime around 2025, which wasn't quite the original plan. Have a feeling He and I are going to have to have a little talk about me getting writing time while He does... well, whatever! The man has a Playstation, so I'm sure he can find some way to fill a couple of hours every evening... I'd happily write while he did stuff in his studio, but short of soundproofing the room with egg cartons, I can't think of a way to block out the noise effectively enough to let me concentrate!

Fuck, have now wasted a significant amount of work time writing this.

Laters, xx

Jealousy is a Sympton of Inferior Feelings

I'm jealous of everyone at the moment. I've got that very female thing when you can't recognise any of your own acheivements, but can easily resent everyone elses.

For example...

2 people I know are having novels published. Mine is about half finished and I never get time to switch on the computer let alone write any of it. So I hate them.

He has just lost half a stone without even trying because He's a great big man and has to eat three times as much as me just to stay the same weight, whereas I am struggling manfully (or womanfully) for every pound that shifts itself. So I don't like Him much right now.

Everyone around me seems to have more disposable income then me, even though I do have a good job that pays well - theirs just pay better. Bastards.

Equally, all my colleagues have gone out and bought a whole new wardrobe each in the sales, whereas I couldn't afford to buy anything. The only thing I bought was a hat for Him.

I don't like anyone much right now. I am a jealous moo (without the mook), and that's just the way it is.

The Past Is A Foreign Country

I don't know if it's getting married, or it being a new year, or what, but I've been thinking a lot lately about the past. Or more accurately, my past.

The person I was three years ago seems so different to who I am now, and equally different to three years before that. I look back and I can barely recognise myself. I wonder if being in a relationship does this to you, or if it's a natural side effect of the ageing process.

Up until now I felt as though I was making constant progress in this - the person I was at school morphed into the confident watersports instructor, which morphed again into the student me... but then I met Him and I almost feel, terribly, as though in some ways i'm going backwards.

What He can't understand is that for him, being defined as a musician, as a joker, as a mate, as a good listener is all compatible with being married. But what used to define me, rightly or wrongly, was that I was the flirty one, the sexy one, the life and soul of the party... and that doesn't sit nearly as comfortably with my new role as a married woman.

I feel like I've lost a bit of myself somewhere, and this quest to find myself again, in the context of marriage, can only be doomed to failure if I'm still lusting after the life I used to have, and the person I used to be. Especially where I'm looking back with rose tinted spectacles on the whole affair. Because of course I wasn't happy all the time, I had plenty of problems, actual and emotional, and there were a lot of Bad Days.

But now... I feel like I've almost been so busy being a part of Him&Me that I've forgotten how to just be Me. I've lost her, and I want her back!

So this is my real New Years resolution... I want that super-fit body back, I want that confident sexiness back, I want that 'don't give a damn, live for the moment' attitude back, and I want to know who I am again. BUT I want to find a version of myself which slots into the other role in my life, as part of Him&Me, because don't get me wrong - I certainly don't want to go back to life before Him - I just want to make a life with Him, instead of as part of Him.

That's got to be a big enough challenge to be getting on with.

xx

Falling Off the Wagon

Funny thing happened this morning.

I got pissed last night for the first time this year. Lots of lovely vodka.

Woke up this morning feeling sick, tired, pale and generally rubbish. Thought I was too ill to go to work. Then realised that that is how I felt waking up almost every morning up until 2nd Jan this year, when I gave up drinking.

Scary.

Now where's the number for AA...

New Years Resolutions

Almost forgot to post these babies...

1. Become virtuous model of restraint in regards to food and drink, at least until post-xmas fat has gone, and can wake up in the morning sans hagover without feeling like I missed out.

2. Become virtuous model of restraint in terms of finances - stop spending money on all of the following:

Shoes (have far too many pairs already, which have spilled off shelves in wardrobe and are threatening to take bedroom hostage)

Bags (I should have known I'd ODed when I had to buy a special storage chest just for pretty/vintage/old skool/embroidered/sassy/worky/etc/etc/etc bag archive)

Retro secretary work skirts (want to be in Lisa & Co and have a fab secretarial job for a man with a curling mustache and glinting eyes, who turns out to have a heart of gold and thighs of steel)

Low cut tops (have hundreds, and must aspire to be known as 'the intelligent girl' rather than 'the girl with the nice tits')

Interesting tights/stockings (except for three more pairs of the rose patterned fishnets I'm wearing today of course)

Knickers (145 pairs at last count. Some may consider this excessive)

3. Stop flirting with all of His mates. Especially learn to never ever even entertain the thought of what they might be like in bed (unless in altruistic "my friends might fancy them" way).

4. Stop spending evenings lying on sofa with feet up shouting instructions to Him while he cooks Jamie Oliver style feasts in the kitchen, but instead learn to cook and be more of a virtuous model of wifeliness - though more in the Desperate Housewives than Stepford fashion, lets face it.

5. Join gym for working out, rather than sitting in sauna/eyeing up talent/drinking smoothies.

6. Try, above all, to become a more poised, cool, aloof and calm person, rather than a stroppy, messy, flirty, busty, drunken drama queen. In other words, attempt to subvert 24 years of personality development.

I'm offering odds of 10,000/1 that I manage the lot, and 7/2 that I keep at least one of them up for the whole of January. Place your bets at Ladbrokes. They love me over there.

Laters xx

Work Avoidance Techniques

Activities engaged in at work today:

1. Surfing the internet
2. Emailing friends
3. Having spurious 'meetings' with colleagues that last two hours longer than they should because we have gossip to impart
4. Blogging

Work done today:
None

Emails in inbox unreplied to:
126

Pieces of important paper on desk that urgently need action:
52

I wouldn't mind, but I thought giving up drinking, eating healthily, and exercising would make me more prodcutive and motivated.

Oh well.

Laters xx

Post Honeymoon Stress Disorder

Back at work today, post wedding and honeymoon.

Wedding was fantastic - well let's face it, any day where over 100 people are obliged to pay you loads of attention, tell you how beautiful you look, and buy you lots of drinks is going to be good, isn't it? Oh, and I got to marry Him of course, which is a bonus...

Honeymoon was equally fabulous - much eating, drinking, and shagging, in the wilds of Cornwall. Nuff said.

Work is shit though, obviously, as after a two week holiday and all that lovely ego-balm, being back in the office and dealing with the aftershocks (no sick pun intended) of the Tsunami among the international students I work with is something of a rude awakening.

And to make it worse, I've given up drinking. And chocolate, and all other remotely fun or pleasurable activity (except sex of course - did you know the female orgasm burns off up to 200 calories?) in order to start 2005 with a healthier me. I'll let you know how long THAT lasts!

So... I'm off to grab another glass of water, and maybe a rice cake or two. Fun...

Laters xx