BACK INTO ROUTINE

So, I seem to have survived my first weeks back at work and the gym.

I’ve dreaded returning to work, because I’ve so enjoyed my break.  However, the two weeks I was off work seemed to fly buy so quickly, that it’s now just a blur.  A faded, distant memory. In fact, I’ve had to read my own blog to remind myself what the fuck I did with those two weeks…

The piece of paper I wrote my list of ‘things I wanted to do whilst I was on holidays’ on, still looks as pristine as the day I wrote it! What have I done with my time?

The thought’s quite depressing…

Just to make matters worse, Charlie is still on holidays for another two weeks!  WTF?  How did he wangle that?

Great.  So I’m heading off to work whilst he is sleeping in (with the cats - as seen in this picture), because I have to keep him in the lifestyle that he’s accustomed to, which is fractionally above poverty.  Prick.

However, returning to work has been a comfort; because not only am I returning to the peeps I haven’t seen for a couple of weeks, but the suggestion of normality. 

Routine. 

I feel its comforting embrace as I process the paperwork that’s accumulated in my absence.  As I take advantage of the quiet time to catch up and tidy up the little loose ends, I’m thankful for the structure of deadlines.  Life feels normal again.

Though, don’t think I wouldn’t give retirement a good hard crack.

A new year; a new, fresh start.  Hopefully this one will be better than 2011, because that was a prick of a year.  I was astonished to learn, through friends and Facebook, how many other people shared this point of view.  Frunt-bum of a year, and I’m glad it’s behind me (even though that’s not focusing on the positive – sorry).

So this year will bring some new challenges and changes, I’m sure.  I’ll deal with those as they come along.  At the moment though, I’m still catching my breath from the blur of a break I had, and considering how quickly that went, I best start planning my damn Christmas shopping list now.

As well as work, I’ve started back at the gym.  This is a good thing.  Apparently.

I haven’t set foot in the place since early November 2011 (right before I was sick with that nightmare of a boulder in my urinary tract). 

It hasn’t changed.  Still the same sweaty bodies and menacing, pain inducing equipment that I battle with day in; day out.  Still the same crazy trainers that seem to derive great joy out of my pain.  They call it ‘encouragement’.  I call it torture. 

Apparently, it’s good for you to be fit, and all of this pain and misery is worth it. 

This year, however, I feel a new lease on life, and am taking a fresh approach to the gym.  Upon reflection, last year I was just stumbling through what I had to do.  Again, it became routine, but not in a positive way.

This year, that little demon inside of me that tells me that I’m weak and cannot do things, will be getting it’s arse well and truly kicked.  No more bullshit or excuses. 

It’s time to rock.

I’m not focusing on ‘weight loss’.  I’m focusing on eating right and being strong and healthy.  That way, I won’t fuck with my head too much when I look in the mirror and see a beached whale looking back at me.  Nor will I confuse myself by wondering who the fuck that beached whale belongs to, because I have a skinny arse, and it’s disappeared. 

Last night, I was quite proud of myself, because I didn’t give into that demon.  He was poking me with his little pitchfork, but I won in the end.

You see, when I’m coming home from work, I call into the gym at Wallan on the way.  It’s all dictated by time (to me, anyway).  If I’m there before 5.30pm, I go in and kill myself for 45 minutes.  Any later, and I’m too late home, which means dinner is late, which means I’m eating late, which means I won’t be sleeping too well that night, and eating late is bad for you.  Apparently.

So, I like to be in there by 5.30pm.  Routine.  Other people would say anal, and I’m just making excuses.  They can G&GF.

Anyway, the little demon was poking away, and I’m rolling into Wallan at 5.30pm thinking ‘I can’t be fucked with this’ (after two days), and I said to myself: ‘Self! Enough! Just do it!’ and pulled into the gym car park.

I was really proud of myself!  I could have been lame and kept going; make up a heap of excuses, but I didn’t!  Possibly burnt off a billion calories (which I think I put back on when I ate a couple of chocolate royals after dinner), but the effort was there, anyway. 

YAY for me!

So back into routine. Back to employment (and money) and back to the gym (and healthiness?)

Now, if I could just work out how to get Charlie to cook dinner for me every night whilst he’s on holidays, I think I’ll be on to a winner.

Peace out.