Dieting is tough. Or at least, I find it tough. I always find myself grinding my teeth at those feature stories in women's mags where some svelte girl smirks that she "just" gave up junk food, multiple sandwiches and snacks, snacks, snacks and "the weight just dropped off". Bully for her, would that I could be her, but that has never been my experience. I work very hard and get little in the way of results. I've almost come to terms with that. Almost... But I find that I can only cling on to this if I am able to focus on dieting. Times when life feels just too damn hard - well, dieting is just intolerable. Times like now.
Work is hideous again. It's insanely busy and that, coupled with the ever-present blame culture, is absolutely energy-sapping. And I'm so tired and so fed up about it that the effort and energy needed to diet is just not there- especially with the additional burden of my January navy-blues. Don't get me wrong, I'm still dieting but it just feels like such a slog. I really need to see some reward and soon.
And I need to find some additional energy somewhere to apply for a job via the beast of all application forms. But it's the only way to escape my present situation - I don't want to work somewhere where blame is delegated.
Anyway, this weekend we're staying in a country pub and - application beast aside - a weekend away will be lovely. I've been caught in my fug of fear, anxiety and unhappiness and I want to spend some time out of that, enjoying P's company. My inclination and instinct is still to curl up on the sofa and not move or see anyone or anything - but some fresh air and a change of scene might perk me up. As ever, roll on the weekend.