It's slightly awkward trying to restart this once again....like the feeling you get when attempting to reconvene a relationship with someone after several years apart. What once felt like second nature now seems gawky and self conscious but this is convincingly outweighed by the gratification it gives me to write and the appreciation of how much I loved keeping a blog before. So here's hoping you are all still out there somewhere in the recesses of cyber world, and willing to listen anew. I shall of course be anxious for the next few days worrying whether or not you still find me an attractive proposition....if not all I ask is that you let me down gently.
I should probably begin by saying that nothing has changed. (Actually that's a lie. All women of my age know that with each passing month there are measurable changes in several areas....my boobs for one are possibly another 5mm closer to my toes now, the bright side of which being I estimate it will only be approximately five more years before I can ditch the discomfort of bras and simply tuck my bust into my tights). So, rather, many changes have occurred but fundamentally not a lot is different. I am still pursuing my endless goal of achieving the unachievable...which I fear nowadays is more the goal than the goal itself. Setting ridiculous targets with seemingly no possibility of success appears to have become my life's undertaking leading me to believe that Freud really did have a point with his concept "Becoming happy is unachievable as a goal, yet cannot be abandoned" (cultured?me? wot wot wot.) Was Freud married? I don't know the answer to that but I am guessing from his idea "life is made up of pain and disillusionment" he probably was. No-one understands disappointment more than a wife who has spent her Saturday cleaning, cooking, plucking, shaving, dyeing, moisturising and making over in anticipation of romance, only to have a husband come in and put on MOTD. And no-one understands more about pain than a man who has done the above.
So Christmas is almost upon us. In six more sleeps it will be here and I must confess that despite the fact I detest all the hype I do truly love Christmas. I love the thought of giving my children things they will love, of spending time with my family, albeit dysfunctional, but mostly the atmosphere that surrounds everything and everyone. Somehow in this dark and dreary world the Christmas Spirit pervades and continues to remain regardless. People are always that little bit nicer, happier, kinder. thoughtful and more appreciative at Christmas. Oh and drunk. Maybe that's the connection. The key to happiness Freud......Baileys and Vodka. If only Freud had lived to experience alcopops.
I am of course on another diet. Christmas wouldn't be Christmas without me trying to live on five carrots two slices of ham and a glass of stewed prunes and senna for the entire week before. I think I decided about four months ago that I needed to do something about my weight (note the very loose use of the word 'decided' considering this my 403rd attempt) and calculated that if I lost two pounds a week, every week I could be in a size twelve by New Year. I then proceeded to scoff myself stupid until two weeks ago when I realised I had three weeks to lose 30 pounds and that drastic action was necessary. I am not yet sure why I need to lose 30 pounds by Christmas. Subliminally I think maybe I was told as a child that Santa does not deliver to fat children; that and the fact all of the magazines I read (which I trust with my entire well being) have informed me I need to wear a little black dress at Christmas and I believe them. If my dress is not little I will cease to exist. It is that simple.
Fingers crossed then that I can stick to my starvation plan and fit in to some kind of party outfit this year....even if it is with the aid of a miracle body suit, spandex leggings and several rolls of duct tape.
For now though I shall say goodnight and hope that we can meet again soon.
Call me?
x x x x
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