I slid through the day moving from one distraction to the next, oh so easily, twiddling my thumbs, scratching my arse, it was a public holiday, after all. Doing everything else but the job at hand, I have a talent for it.
Shane is in Perth. David is in New Zealand. Just me and Missy and she seemed cranky all day, after I pushed her fat arse off the pile of clean towels, first thing. Slit eyes, head spin, dirty look. If she'd had green vomit... In her defence, someone had stored the clean towels on the floor. WTF? (I'm sure it wasn't me) So, what’s a cat to think?
I had the house to myself. Ah, the solitude. I started out writing, but I quickly got to reading blogs, messing around with pictures, designing new banner headings, pasting letters, ransom note'esque, watching dvds, watching porn.
It's funny how it's 9am and then it's 2pm, just like fucken that.
I headed back to bed with my lap-top, hid in my room, upstairs, out of sight. I took myself away from all distractions to write... like they were rampant in an otherwise empty house.
The curtains were drawn - when aren't they in my bed room - and the balcony doors were open, a cool breeze blew. Safe in the shadows, like a cave, my cave.
I gave in and watched Walk the Line on dvd. I liked it, it was kind of authentic to the period, but an Academy Award win, you've got to be kidding me? I guess now that Hollywood only makes turkeys the benchmark for Oscar has dropped considerably.
But, Joaquin Phoenix that lips is as sexy as hell.
I must go see Avatar so I can hang shit on it.
The day slipped away, as days do, especially days off.
I had chicken risotto delivered to my eerie. Igor thanked sir for the 50 cent tip, he seemed pleased as he limped away. I felt cheap. I ate it with my hands, chicken stock dripped from my chin.
The guilt slipped up and tapped my shoulder, no matter how much I pushed it away.
I'd ridden my bike for two days, but not y'day. I couldn't face it, what kind of fitness shmuck does that make me? Spent on the third day. I guess, I should just embrace 100 kilos for what it will be... better than lung cancer, let’s face it. Although, coughing up blood to the surprise of the general public, I'm sure, would not be without its charms. Could you imagine Mr and Mrs Beige's look of horror... mucous and cherry red spittle, could just be worth it.
Somewhere around 8.30, I decided I just couldn't be so lame... guilt stabbed my heart... daylight savings is a godsend, now ain't it? I gotta have "stickability" with this fitness carry on, my mum's favourite word for us kids when we were growing up, not to give up on stuff... when my mum could remember words that is.
I decided last Friday that I had turned over a new cliché, cliché, cliché... really going to move my fat arse, actually stomach, until it is no longer there to move. No excuses you lazy sack of shit!
I pulled on my brown shorts and slipped on black socks and slid my feet into my runners - Christian Louboutin eat your fucken heart out - and pushed myself out the door with untied laces flapping around my thin ankles, like snakes. Okay, jelly snakes. Yep, still got thin ankles, I guess I should be proud.
Just go walking, remember you did have those two Drumsticks the night before last. (Ed note - the calorie laden ice creams and not the chooks leg, Boysenberry artery clogger and Caramel stroke inducer) Don't even think about the bottle of red Friday night and Saturday night. That's a bottle each night, not one spread over two nights. I don't even get pissed any longer. Binge drinking my fat cunt! How hard can a walk be?
I started walking, but it seemed too slow, so I got to jogging. It was cool. My shins burned a bit, but otherwise I did well. My preference in more recent years has been bike riding. I used to jog a lot, but dodgy knees, you know the tear. But, jogging is calming, it has a certain freedom, a certain headway, definite forward motion. It's good to feel your lungs gasp, sometimes. I managed to jog all the way up Elgin to Swanston. Okay, I did it in two, walking in the middle around Brunswick. Oh, all right, and around Lygon, but I jogged the rest. I ran away from that guilt, hovering around me all day like a fart.
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