Yesterday was okay. The test itself wasn't remotely difficult, all I had to do was just lie down and have flashing lights in my eyes for fifteen minutes and then breathe like Darth Vader during hayfever season for three minutes and then they let me have a kip. Staying awake for twenty-four hours prior to that, however, was pretty tough going. Between half past two and half past three I felt ridiculously hyper, between four and six I thought I was going crazy and felt like my eyeballs were going to fall out of their sockets. The worst part was the car journey to the hospital, I couldn't keep my eyes open!! I must've looked dreadful. I certainly felt like I'd died three weeks earlier and my body was just in the process of catching up with me...
When it finally came to the time the nurse let me sleep, and how I managed to stay awake through the rest of the test is still beyond me, as luck would have it - no sooner did I close my eyes than the workmen outside thought it'd be a great idea to start drilling the pavement. Not even a euphemism. Still, after approximately 28 hours, even if they'd started drilling in the exam room I wouldn't have noticed, I was out like a light for fifteen glorious minutes. Sigh. It was great.
Anyway, that's all over now and hopefully I won't have to do it again.
But today was my second weigh-in after a week of generally being good and refusing yummy stuff and being completely sober, I hopped back on the scales, waiting to see how I'd done. The llamas got their new leg-warmers on especially for the occasion, ready at any moment to put on the fiesta of all fiestas. I crossed my fingers, I thought thin thoughts, I said the magic words "Please don't let me put any weight on...!" and then looked at the number on the scales...
It was exactly the same. Exactly. To the ounce. Absolutely nothing had altered.
Positives: Hey, at least I didn't put any on!
Negatives: WTF?!?!?!?!?!?!!!!!!!!! What is the point in life?!!? Nothing is worth anything!! I AM POINTLESS!!! I should just die now and save the NHS time and expense on treating any future weight-related health issues!!!! *sob*
After having a mini-breakdown and writing seven different versions of a suicide note, I told my Mum when she came to visit. She said she'd been weighed the previous day and hopped on the scales to see what it said about her. If they're to be believed she put half a stone on in less than 24 hours... Then she said that the scales were actually third-hand and not very good.
So.... erm... Well, the llamas haven't done a fiesta today because we're all scratching our heads in confusion.
I'm changing the scales and getting weighed again tomorrow so I can start all over again. So the llamas will have an extra week to work on their routine. It will be spectacular. Or at least it should be.
Flippin' scales. They do have a habit of spoiling people's day. But they won't do next week!!!
Showing posts with label sleepless nights. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sleepless nights. Show all posts
Wednesday, 15 January 2014
Monday, 13 January 2014
Nessun Dorma
(blog post title courtesy of my lovely big sister, Joanna)
Still, at least now I can officially say, in the style of the well-known genius, Dr Sheldon Lee Cooper - "I'm not crazy - my mother had me tested!" Or at least there's definitely nothing physiologically wrong with my brain - and contrary to the scurrilous rumours, I do actually have a brain rolling around in the vast expanse of my cranium. Which is useful.
Despite the fact I suffer rather frequently with bouts of insomnia, I am finding today something of a struggle. All I've wanted to do since 8a.m. has been to have a nap. I think it's mostly a sort of psychological thing (that and the fact that I've barely slept for the past two weeks due to aforementioned insomnia). I know I'm not allowed to sleep so I'm desperate to sleep. Still. I have a few films I'm planning on watching tonight, and I've bought some nice coffee that I'm saving for later so I can feel like I'm being dead naughty having caffeine at midnight. Not really got anything for a midnight feast, but at least I can bask in the joy of knowing that later this year I will be skinnier.
At a slight tangent: Is it wrong that my main ambition is to order a gigantic pizza at midnight and sit eating it in my size 12/14 pyjamas while feeling absolutely no trace of guilt whatsoever? I've never even done that at the size I'm at now, I don't know why I want to do it when I'm skinny! Everyone else might be in this weight loss thing for the health benefits. I just want to be thin enough to eat crap and not beat myself up over it!!
Speaking of weight loss, I have discovered something absolutely amazing about the fact I'm having a second go at it. If you go back to my earlier blog entries, say from January probably through to about March 2012, I really struggled at the beginning to figure out how to function on a healthy eating regime, and how not to panic if I get hungry, or wonder what the hell I can eat when there's only stuff for a sandwich in the house, or all those horrible niggly "can't I just give in and eat my body weight in fry-ups?!?" type dilemmas. This time, I've settled back into the routine pretty much straight away. I've got my dieting head back on and if anything it's more of a relief than a constant series of mind-battles, knowing exactly what I need to do to get myself back on track. It feels far less of a diet and far more of a "right, this is just what I'm doing from now on" type lifestyle change. And to be honest, although the changes I've had to make have been pretty drastic, they've really not been anywhere near the kind of struggle they were when I went through this the first time. So I'm feeling really encouraged by that. I'm not sure if I've actually lost any weight yet, I won't get weighed until Wednesday morning, but I'm doing all the things I'm supposed to be doing, so hopefully the results will follow. I feel a lot more chilled about the whole thing, which can only be a good thing when it comes to actually keeping going on this whole weight-loss regime.
In other news, I have got my Llama-Keeping Licence back and the boys are due home tomorrow. I can't wait to see them, it's been ages and I'm sure we've all got lots of catching up to do. I have some tequila on hand for them - Ricardo says it helps him remember his stories better. They're going to work through the inevitable jet lag to prepare for Wednesday's fiesta just in case I lose weight this week - and they've even incorporated a few moves into their dance routine that I can join in with, which will be very exciting!
Remind me to pick up some red sparkle leg-warmers on my way home from the hospital tomorrow...
Wednesday, 30 May 2012
Writer's Block
It's driving me IN-FLIPPIN'-SANE!!
For anyone who's had any contact with me over the last few weeks and I've seemed a little distracted and non-conversational, or you've wondered where my three hundred word text messages had gone to and why I haven't spoken to anyone unless it's been completely necessary - I CAN'T WRITE!! My brain can't even process enough thought to hold a proper conversation at the moment, let alone actually write anything. This may seem like a really trivial thing to you, and I apologise if you're bored already - especially because I can't even explain why it's so important that I do write. That's not a pretentious, pseudo-artistic 'if you don't write, you wouldn't understand' type excuse, it's true. I can articulate most things, but just not why I need to write.
It isn't that I haven't got any ideas at all. I've got vague thoughts for stories, books, scripts, sketches - you name it - in spades. But I don't have full ideas. I don't have enough of any one idea to be able to write one word. The floodgates of the imagination are simply groaning with the effort of keeping the plethora of sentences that are stored up in my brain - if only I could hold onto ONE sentence long enough for it to blossom into a fully formed idea, rather than simply remaining stagnant as the beginning of a maybe.
ARGH!!! It's the most frustrating thing ever.
Having ideas, being able to write, writing itself is probably one of the most liberating things ever. That really irritating moment (everyone who writes must have gone through this at some stage) of waking up at two o'clock in the morning and HAVING to get all those ideas down before your brain explodes under the weight of them - yes, it's a pain when your body needs sleep but your brain won't stop whirring into overdrive. Still, nothing makes me feel more alive than my fingertips flying across the keyboard, the eyes almost glazed over as the old imagination completely takes over body and soul, and before I know it I've actually created something, a person, a world and an adventure and I look back at it and think, "Woah, when did I write that?!"
When I read it back again in the morning, I might wince and think "Oh dear, when did I write that?!" but the fact is, I wrote something and the idea got out into the open.
It's like part of my brain has totally switched off. This year started out so creatively, I wrote loads in The Phantom Winger, Adam and I wrote Slim Chance (hey, top 10% out of over 800 entrants is no mean feat!), I've written the liner notes for Nathan's album (released officially on 4th June, physical copies are already in circulation and are available at the album launch on 2nd June). But then it's all sort of stopped.
There are things I really want to write, but I can't. I want to write more in The Phantom Winger - Alex's adventure hasn't even begun yet and I'm only about five paragraphs away from breaking the block on it!! I want to rewrite Slim Chance but I know that's pretty much on hold till Mr Leslie comes back from his sojourn to the colonies - which is fine because it's probably still a bit too fresh in my mind for me to be objective enough for a rewrite just yet.
I really want to write a Western. I've wanted to write one for years, for my Dad. We've always watched Westerns together and he loves stories about cowboys and I thought it would really make him happy if I wrote him a story - but it's taken me forever to get an idea. Now, I've sort of almost got a plot together, I've got an idea about what I might call my main character, and I've got a basic theme for the story... but that's it, I've not got anything definite, I've not had that light-bulb flash, Eureka style moment to spur me on (no pun intended) to write something that'd make Big Aitch proud. I know Westerns are probably the most difficult things to write because there are so many rules with a Western, and they require years of detailed research before you even settle down to writing anything in it. All of those obstacles, coupled with the fact I've grown up in Central Lancashire and as much as I turn into a pile of mush at the very thought of a Southern State accent, I simply don't know if I would ever be fluent enough in the Southern vernacular to make my dialogue convincing. I don't think I'm cut out to write it - but that's the thing my brain keeps telling me needs to be written. Even though I still haven't got enough of anything to start writing it yet.
You know what I need? I need a month or two in Texas. On an entirely academic, research-driven basis, and not just because I've been desperate to go to Texas since forever. Certainly not because it's the home of barbecue sauce. Or because it's filled with the sounds of the most incredible accent ever. Gosh, no. Whatever'd give you that idea?!
Basically, all my ideas are just too vague to even think about formulating a sentence with - let alone trying to eke them out into a story/script/whatever.
I'm sorry this has turned into such a big rant. I know people have real problems out there and that I shouldn't really whinge so much about it - but it's seriously doing my head in. Perhaps ranting about it will help it shift. I flippin' hope so.
Please join me on Friday, when I'll give you a report from Fat Club and take an excited look towards four whole days off work for the Jubilee weekend. Wasn't it nice of Her Majesty to know that I'd be so depressed about my birthday on Sunday that I wouldn't want to do any work for a couple of days - and subsequently arrange her Jubilee celebrations accordingly?!
For anyone who's had any contact with me over the last few weeks and I've seemed a little distracted and non-conversational, or you've wondered where my three hundred word text messages had gone to and why I haven't spoken to anyone unless it's been completely necessary - I CAN'T WRITE!! My brain can't even process enough thought to hold a proper conversation at the moment, let alone actually write anything. This may seem like a really trivial thing to you, and I apologise if you're bored already - especially because I can't even explain why it's so important that I do write. That's not a pretentious, pseudo-artistic 'if you don't write, you wouldn't understand' type excuse, it's true. I can articulate most things, but just not why I need to write.
It isn't that I haven't got any ideas at all. I've got vague thoughts for stories, books, scripts, sketches - you name it - in spades. But I don't have full ideas. I don't have enough of any one idea to be able to write one word. The floodgates of the imagination are simply groaning with the effort of keeping the plethora of sentences that are stored up in my brain - if only I could hold onto ONE sentence long enough for it to blossom into a fully formed idea, rather than simply remaining stagnant as the beginning of a maybe.
ARGH!!! It's the most frustrating thing ever.
Having ideas, being able to write, writing itself is probably one of the most liberating things ever. That really irritating moment (everyone who writes must have gone through this at some stage) of waking up at two o'clock in the morning and HAVING to get all those ideas down before your brain explodes under the weight of them - yes, it's a pain when your body needs sleep but your brain won't stop whirring into overdrive. Still, nothing makes me feel more alive than my fingertips flying across the keyboard, the eyes almost glazed over as the old imagination completely takes over body and soul, and before I know it I've actually created something, a person, a world and an adventure and I look back at it and think, "Woah, when did I write that?!"
When I read it back again in the morning, I might wince and think "Oh dear, when did I write that?!" but the fact is, I wrote something and the idea got out into the open.
It's like part of my brain has totally switched off. This year started out so creatively, I wrote loads in The Phantom Winger, Adam and I wrote Slim Chance (hey, top 10% out of over 800 entrants is no mean feat!), I've written the liner notes for Nathan's album (released officially on 4th June, physical copies are already in circulation and are available at the album launch on 2nd June). But then it's all sort of stopped.
There are things I really want to write, but I can't. I want to write more in The Phantom Winger - Alex's adventure hasn't even begun yet and I'm only about five paragraphs away from breaking the block on it!! I want to rewrite Slim Chance but I know that's pretty much on hold till Mr Leslie comes back from his sojourn to the colonies - which is fine because it's probably still a bit too fresh in my mind for me to be objective enough for a rewrite just yet.
I really want to write a Western. I've wanted to write one for years, for my Dad. We've always watched Westerns together and he loves stories about cowboys and I thought it would really make him happy if I wrote him a story - but it's taken me forever to get an idea. Now, I've sort of almost got a plot together, I've got an idea about what I might call my main character, and I've got a basic theme for the story... but that's it, I've not got anything definite, I've not had that light-bulb flash, Eureka style moment to spur me on (no pun intended) to write something that'd make Big Aitch proud. I know Westerns are probably the most difficult things to write because there are so many rules with a Western, and they require years of detailed research before you even settle down to writing anything in it. All of those obstacles, coupled with the fact I've grown up in Central Lancashire and as much as I turn into a pile of mush at the very thought of a Southern State accent, I simply don't know if I would ever be fluent enough in the Southern vernacular to make my dialogue convincing. I don't think I'm cut out to write it - but that's the thing my brain keeps telling me needs to be written. Even though I still haven't got enough of anything to start writing it yet.
You know what I need? I need a month or two in Texas. On an entirely academic, research-driven basis, and not just because I've been desperate to go to Texas since forever. Certainly not because it's the home of barbecue sauce. Or because it's filled with the sounds of the most incredible accent ever. Gosh, no. Whatever'd give you that idea?!
Basically, all my ideas are just too vague to even think about formulating a sentence with - let alone trying to eke them out into a story/script/whatever.
I'm sorry this has turned into such a big rant. I know people have real problems out there and that I shouldn't really whinge so much about it - but it's seriously doing my head in. Perhaps ranting about it will help it shift. I flippin' hope so.
Please join me on Friday, when I'll give you a report from Fat Club and take an excited look towards four whole days off work for the Jubilee weekend. Wasn't it nice of Her Majesty to know that I'd be so depressed about my birthday on Sunday that I wouldn't want to do any work for a couple of days - and subsequently arrange her Jubilee celebrations accordingly?!
Wednesday, 4 April 2012
Bright and Breezy
I will never learn. Honestly. Never. I have known for many years now that watching films until the early hours of the morning on a worknight is really never a good idea. Especially if you aren't a morning person. Please remind me of that next time. I watched S.W.A.T. The film was so good the seratonin levels in the old brain there went through the roof. Imagine your brain full of a sugar rush without the sugar at half two in the morning. I'm amazed I made it to work at all, and that I don't feel as though I've been dragged through a hedge backwards by my hair. Ah, it was worth the extreme tiredness. I think I might need to watch it again, just to be extra sure about it, but you can't really go wrong in a film with lots of car chases, lots of explosions, Samuel L Jackson and a really nasty, mildly unhinged bad guy. Sigh. Jeremy Renner. He's an almost depressingly beautiful man. And he's scarily good at being bad.
Where was I?
Happy Wednesday, everyone. It may be a bit cold and rather windy outside, but I am full of the joys of spring this morning. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the bees are trying to have sex with them (copyright Bart Simpson, but in fairness Chorley is a peculiar place). It's all happening.
I've been sober, probably since Monday, but I've been teetotal since Sunday. And I still can't think of booze without my blood running a little cold. I'm still in the 'never again' frame of mind. Which probably isn't such a bad thing, it'll do me good to knock it on the head for a couple of weeks. I mean, I'm no Keith Moon or anything - I've always been of the "Yeah, I can take it or leave it, but I don't see why I should leave it!" mindset, and can happily go for a few days or even a couple of weeks without feeling the need to make my liver do a bit of work, but for the first time since I was 18 I'm really of the "No, I'm happy to leave it" mindset. Sober *and* happy?? I must be ill!! Beer festivals. So much fun on the day. Still highly recommended, though.
So this week I've been trying to do a bit of penance to make up for my mammoth blow-out on Saturday. There's been minimal Synnage, although I have discovered those little pots of chocolate Philadelphia, which sound minging but are actually really rather lovely. They're weird. But it's a good weird. And if you've been chocolateless for a good few months they're practically magical. I haven't done too much exercise but fingers crossed I'll have maintained this week. That's totally all I'm hoping for. There's no way I'll have lost anything after all that beer. And cider. Sheesh!
I really don't have a great deal to report, as my week thus far has basically consisted of work and home, without much room for excitement in between times. However, please join me again on Friday, when I'll have hopefully managed more than three hours' sleep, I'll know the damage I did to my waistline on Saturday, and hopefully have come up with a plan of action to get myself back on track for the following week!!
Where was I?
Happy Wednesday, everyone. It may be a bit cold and rather windy outside, but I am full of the joys of spring this morning. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the bees are trying to have sex with them (copyright Bart Simpson, but in fairness Chorley is a peculiar place). It's all happening.
I've been sober, probably since Monday, but I've been teetotal since Sunday. And I still can't think of booze without my blood running a little cold. I'm still in the 'never again' frame of mind. Which probably isn't such a bad thing, it'll do me good to knock it on the head for a couple of weeks. I mean, I'm no Keith Moon or anything - I've always been of the "Yeah, I can take it or leave it, but I don't see why I should leave it!" mindset, and can happily go for a few days or even a couple of weeks without feeling the need to make my liver do a bit of work, but for the first time since I was 18 I'm really of the "No, I'm happy to leave it" mindset. Sober *and* happy?? I must be ill!! Beer festivals. So much fun on the day. Still highly recommended, though.
So this week I've been trying to do a bit of penance to make up for my mammoth blow-out on Saturday. There's been minimal Synnage, although I have discovered those little pots of chocolate Philadelphia, which sound minging but are actually really rather lovely. They're weird. But it's a good weird. And if you've been chocolateless for a good few months they're practically magical. I haven't done too much exercise but fingers crossed I'll have maintained this week. That's totally all I'm hoping for. There's no way I'll have lost anything after all that beer. And cider. Sheesh!
I really don't have a great deal to report, as my week thus far has basically consisted of work and home, without much room for excitement in between times. However, please join me again on Friday, when I'll have hopefully managed more than three hours' sleep, I'll know the damage I did to my waistline on Saturday, and hopefully have come up with a plan of action to get myself back on track for the following week!!
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