Isn’t it a bloody lovely feeling, when everything just works? I get a real sense of life slowly returning to normal, helped by the fact that I went back to work yesterday. It’s like I’ve stepped back into my own life, after wandering into someone else’s for a bit. Seriously, it’s great to be back…there’s a rhythm to my life that I rather like these days, and I missed it.
I’d almost forgotten what it was like to move through the day without a barrage of unhelpful suggestions from the Asshole between my ears. I’m not entirely out of the woods, in fact there was an incident last night where I spent an hour debating with myself whether or not I could be bothered to get changed and go for a late swim. It was only the fact that I’d actually eaten my exercise calories on the promise of going that swung my ass out of the chair, and of course I loved it once I was in the water. But the key thing is, I closed down the voice and that felt very satisfying. Powerful, even.
I’ve got seven days of food sobriety in the bank, and it’s a good feeling. I’ve treated myself to a handful of non-edible rewards and that seems to be working…I’ve always been open to bribery. So far this week I’ve acquired a new gym bag and yesterday I splashed out on an outrageously-priced face mask that comes with the promise of winding the clock back to a time when my face didn’t look like a deflating balloon. I have high hopes that by the time I go on my writer’s workshop next weekend I’ll look a bit less baggy.
It’s funny you know, I can remember my Grandma getting upset once about the fact that she had a really wrinkly face, and at the time I was baffled. I mean, she was my Grandma and it was sort of in the job description, right? Except now the man-child is almost thirty, technically I’m old enough to be a Grandma myself so I find myself on wrinkle patrol whenever I’m close to a mirror.
There’s definitely shit going south in the face department. And eye bags, what the actual fuck are they all about? I’ve never had bags under my eyes in my life, but these days there’s definitely baggage there especially first thing in the morning. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment when, if I’m not smiling, my face started arranging itself into miserable as the default setting, but I swear it’s got something to do with the fat marching its way downwards.
I’ve always been envious of girls with smooth golden limbs because mine have always been a bit lumpy, with corned beef colouring to boot which really hasn’t helped my cause. Let’s be honest, tanned fat is prettier, right? I’ve never really coveted anyone else’s face though, because I’ve always been happy with my own. Well, not counting my nose, which bizarrely seems to get bigger whenever my cheeks get smaller. It’s annoying that none of the red flags which are now screaming that middle age is upon me seemed noticeable when I looked like I’d swallowed the moon.
Just to be clear, if it comes down to face versus figure, I’m still going for figure. And I’m not going to bitch about the loose skin or the saggy boobs when I get to Skinny Town. I’m well used to tucking my belly into my pants so not a single shit will be given.
I definitely hope the face mask delivers though…that’s a bit harder to swallow 🙂