5494/18414
It’s the second worst kind of bound, snowbound.
Nursery school was cancelled. But it’s probably time for me to stop going to that now I am 28 years old. And I was just the teacher. Actually that makes it OK for me to go.
What kind of vengeful God would fix it so I have to take care of both my own kids. I don’t know what I did to deserve this. Oh yeah, all the blasphemy. As you were.
But I got to make a blanket fort with Phoebe, so I am pretty happy, all in all.
I actually did get some time to carry on with the seemingly endless task of unpacking and organising our stuff. Every time I chip away at this iceberg of a job, I step back and it seems that nothing has changed. Today I charged myself with streamlining my wardrobe so that it featured only my fat Rich clothes. The lovely suits and shirts and jeans that I bought three and a half years ago when I was slim and fit have gone up into the attic to await me either having another amazing health kick or contracting some terrible disease. Fingers crossed for either. My fat suits (the suits I wear when I am fat - I have no need to pretend) are cheap and horrible, (apart from my wedding suit, which is halfway between, but wearing out a bit now anyway) and my thin suits are really lovely. Should that be enough to make me cut down on the booze and stop stealing my daughter’s chocolate buttons? Not today it wasn’t. We ate a big tube of Smarties that I’d bought for her as we drank some nice wine (though weirdly Smarties were not one of the food groups that were recommended to drink with this vintage) and watched the increasingly terrible and pantomimy, “Orange is the New Black.” That show seems to have turned into a series of sketches and parodies, with the occasional heavy-handed sincere speech which seems a shame as it started so well.
I would be hopeful that 2018 might be the year that I can attempt to get down to the weight I am meant to be according to the BMI ( and then go to Ian BMI’s house and ask him honestly if he thinks I am not too thin), but it was the arrival of a baby and the lack of sleep that accompany that, that made things go to shit last time. And as much as I want to die to escape the wonderful nightmare of parenthood, it would be nice to live to see how well we did and see if these two idiots turn out OK. And equally enjoyable to see them turn out to be idiots.
So maybe I need to lay off the Smarties and put on the running shoes that I bought to replace the ones that my dog ate. The dog is trying to kill me by destroying my glasses and stopping me exercising.
As long as the chocolate and consistent, though rather minimal boozing doesn't kill me this year, I will be turning over a new leaf in January. Just in time to have a beach ready body for the Apocolypse (my body, like everyone's is already ready for the beach).
