A brand new exercise book

imageThe start of a new year always reminds me of a brand new school exercise book; full of crisp, clean, white pages waiting to be filled in using best handwriting with a new pen.

I would like to say that today, Tuesday 1 January 2013, was a front page of a new exercise book, super neat handwriting, no crossings out sort of a day, but it wasn’t.

I woke up to an alarm shouting to Brad that he needed to get up to go to work. In the bathroom mirror bleary eyes covered in bits of last night’s silver eye shadow and crunchy mascara peered back at me. Overnight my hair had grown considerably, both outwards and upwards. I’m pretty certain that it also smelled slightly beery after I’d posed for a photograph with a beer towel on my head last night.

Brad went to work, I fed the cat, getting a bit of cat food on my face in the process. Ripping the top off those cat food pouches can cause splashes of food to fly out. Nasty.

I went back into the bedroom which smelled of sleep, kebabs and cheesy chips. Half of last night’s post drinking feast was still on a plate in the corner of the room.

In the kitchen, the bread was mouldy. There was nothing to eat in the flat so I went for the only available option; last of the Christmas Quality Street. I felt both disgusted with myself, for eating chocolate for breakfast, and proud of my efficiency, for using up leftovers, in equal measure.

The rest of the day was filled with quite a lot of sitting down, apart from a rather fraught trip to the teen weeny, pocket sized supermarket nearby sometime after 5.00pm. In the supermarket, a woman was obsessing over broccoli with a hungover looking customer assistant; “…but don’t you have it in any other size?…” is all I heard as I walked past. It’s a broccoli love, not a Marks and Spencer skirt suit.

In the meantime, me and the rest of the shoppers were fighting over loaves of bread after suddenly remembering that we have to take sandwiches to work tomorrow. Where’s Jesus when you need him?

So, there we have it; no trip to the gym, no brisk walk in the fresh air, not a stick of celery passing my lips. I didn’t drink a vitamin packed smoothie, pay a credit card bill or do something worthy. The first page of my exercise book is tatty with an inky smudge, ripped edges and tippex covered crossings out.

Must. Try. Harder.

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