Saw this on successify.net – don’t let your life be all retch and no vomit.
And for the record, I don’t know what I would do if money were no object. I feel so lost sometimes. But I’m on a journey to find out, and it’s all about the journey as the destination isn’t that much fun to think about!
I have two personal challenges this month: one fairly trivial, but something that I really ought to do. The second is harder and I don’t expect to succeed at it all the time, but I will persevere because I think it is worth doing and will hopefully make me a nicer person to be around.
Challenge number 1: remember to take my makeup off every night before I go to bed. It is a simple thing that takes seconds to do, but I don’t do it because I am a lazy slob sometimes and cannot be arsed. Even though I know it’s bad for my skin to sleep in makeup and really gross to have gooey eyes first thing the next morning.
Challenge number 2: check myself when I start to whine or complain. That sounds simple, but I know it’s not going to be easy, especially once I’m back at work next week. I guess it falls in with the mindfulness thing.
I’ll check in every Monday with my progress on these.
Got up early on the bank holiday to do another Podrunner session. OK, so more like a Podpoddle. But I got out there, and did it, even though it would have been easier (and much warmer) to stay in bed.
Did 2x sets of 8 girly pressups (you know, the kind where you have your knees on the floor), 2x sets of 8 sit ups, and did 2 lots of holding “The Plank” for a count of ten when I had got back.
Note to self: gloves are good in this cold weather. Remember them next time!
I had a bit of a naughty day yesterday, which involved wine and chocolate, not in grand quantities, but enough to make today a super-strict 1200 calorie day. Aaaahhh!
It would appear that my plan to lose a stone before Easter did not quite come to fruition.
Still, I did lose 13 pounds, so one more to that stone. Feel better already and my clothes fit more comfortably too. I feel encouraged by this, even though by the NHS chart’s lofty standards I am still overweight.
Sometimes I think that NHS choices website exists to make me beat myself up. I mean, I’ve had treatment 1 out of 2 for root canal and all they can say is that the condition is due to poor dental hygiene and eating too much sugary food. Erm, that’s not true, as I’m kind of paranoid about having bad teeth and don’t eat so much sugary food so I’ll pass on the self-flagellation this time, thanks.
Fuck you, NHS choices.
I made the mistake of logging in to Facebook today. Now, on a typical day, it’s like walking into a crèche, full of friends’ baby pictures, which are invariably cute and nice – although when friends post their kid as their profile picture, I find that a little weird. Like this picture of a kid saying grown up things. Even more bizarre when it’s a pregnant friend with the obligatory scan picture. A talking foetus. Seriously uncomfortable with that one, folks.
No, I’ve found a fresh hell – “reborn dolls”. A friend of mine, lovely lady in her 60s, has apparently found a new hobby. OK, I admit I lack the normal reaction of a human female towards neonates, not so much “Oooh how lovely”, more “Get that thing away from me!”. But these creep me out big time. According to the font of all knowledge, Wikipedia, reborning started in the States (doesn’t everything?) in the 1990s.
To be fair to my friend, who has posted lots of “making of” pictures, it looks like a bit of an art form.
I will just add it to my list of things I will never understand.
I did my first outside run today for nearly two years. Ok, admittedly, it was more of a walk/shuffle/jog to the podrunner.html series. I used this when I was slimming down to get into my wedding dress, so I have had a modicum of success there to encourage me to do it again.
After the Christmas weight refused to come off through January and February and I ruined the zip on my work trousers on the first day back as my fat belly busted out, I decided to take matters seriously and have been following the Rosemary Conley FAB plan. I can’t bring myself to go to a Fat Fighters style class, so I have just been doing the home version. Seems to be working so far as I have lost 12lb in four weeks. The real challenge for me is incorporating more exercise into my daily life, as I am primarily desk bound, and seriously need to stop working through my lunch and get out and about. The cold weather through March has not helped this aim, but I am optimistic that something like spring is not too far away.
The main focus of this project is pure vanity – I want to look ok in a bikini when I go on my summer holiday to Cyprus in June.
Yep, it’s true. I’ve failed. I mess up all the time. Phone rings, and it’s a smug colleague in another department who has picked up one of my many oversights or shortcomings, with not a little glee in her voice. I look back at the career I worked so hard to achieve which lays in ruins many years behind me, something which haunted me for years and I convinced myself I was “finished”. Boy, did I beat myself up about that for years. Now I laugh at myself, I was 27 for goodness sake, only just starting out.
That was when I allowed my successes (yes there have been some!) and my failures determine who I was as a person, my worth with some kind of cosmic scorekeeper. It’s not about what car I drive or how many friends I have. It’s not about my job title or the number on my pay cheque. Although recognition is very nice to have, when I turn out the light at night, it’s only how I feel about myself that matters.
I’m not going to say that there’s something wonderful about failure, about how we learn by our mistakes and all that. There’s nothing particularly noble about screwing up. The growth bit is when you pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start all over again. OK, this time you failed, but you’re not a failure.
Give that thing a go, and if you fail, so what? Didn’t finish is better than didn’t start.
I don’t really expect anyone to read this blog. It’s a brain dump, a way to get all those crazy thoughts out of my head…
Maybe someone might pipe up with a “me too” which would make me feel less weird, although the older I get the less weird I feel. I suspect this has nothing to do with becoming more normal, whatever that is, but realising that everyone has a bit of freakery in them and those who don’t are probably not very interesting or entertaining.
I have been told I’m entertaining, usually when I want to be taken seriously. Especially at work. I take my work very seriously, but try as I might I find it impossible to take myself seriously.
Remember, you heard it here first 