Sometimes it feels as if life is conspiring against you, doing everything it can to hinder your plans, as if life itself is a person who has decided to be obstructive – the toxic friend who sabotages someone’s efforts to make changes and improvements. I am perhaps sounding a bit dramatic, but that reflects my current level of tiredness. Nothing terrible has happened & I have nothing really to complain about; I just feel that over the past couple of days, my best laid plans have gone to waste.
A few busy weeks – with a few more lying ahead – are beginning to catch up with me. I know what I need to do to counter the tiredness: get more sleep. One of the best tips I’ve ever read in a self-help book (& I’ve read a few!) is to go to bed for ten o’clock three nights in a row. The book’s author swore by the effects of this so much that she & her husband had nicknamed it ‘catching the ten o’clock angel train’. I roared with laughter when I read this cheesy phrase, but found I have to agree with the sentiments behind it: it really works. I always feel better for it. Unfortunately, despite my intentions, I have missed ‘the angel train’ for two nights in a row (pretty poor, considering the aim is to do it for three consecutive nights!). First night: just before getting into bed, I discovered a minor disaster with a card I was making & had to rectify that; also felt pretty stressed so ended up journalling for an hour or so. Bed time: 23.15. Second night: it was my mum’s birthday, so understandably an early night was unlikely. Had a lovely evening with my parents & some family friends, which I wouldn’t have wanted to miss but not only did I not make a ten o’clock bedtime, I was even later than normal hitting the sack. Bed time: 23.45. Tonight I’m out for a friend’s 30th birthday. Again, I’m not bemoaning this event – I’m now actually quite amused by the extent to which I’ve failed to take the action I know I need to feel less tired.
By this stage, I may be beginning to sound like a conspiracy theorist on a Channel 5 documentary, but a whole host of factors have this week prevented me from continuing in my resolve to eat healthy. It was only when discussing this with my friends last night that I realised how poor my eating had been this week:
Tuesday: a pineapple cream
Thursday: steak pie (home cooked) with chip-shop chips
Friday: chicken goujons, potato wedges & salad. Effects of salad totally countered by finishing off my friend’s fishcake for supper. Oops.
I’m not going to beat myself up about this, as it has been an exceptional week; amongst other things, my nephew has had his tonsils out so meals have been a bit up in the air & needed to fit around helping out with family things. However, having monitored my weight for the last couple of months, my healthy eating & exercising is only really maintaining my weight at its current level. Hence last night – as I lay awake unable to sleep even though it was nearly midnight – I decided that I need to diet. This is a big decision for me. I don’t like dieting. Not because it’s unpleasant (although it obviously can be – who wants to deny themselves?!) but because I don’t like how for many women, dieting is like a lifestyle choice in itself – the idea of living you’re life constantly in a battle against every morsel entering your mouth sounds like hell. But feminist principles have to (literally) be weighed against the health arguments: I know that if current eating = maintains weight, losing weight requires different eating. So here goes. Why weight until Monday? I thought. Start the diet on Saturday! Then I remembered: am going to a 90th birthday party this afternoon. It’s an afternoon tea. Will involve cake. Life is conspiring against me again. So I’ll eat cake & have a late night…and make a fresh start on Sunday.