If for nothing else, this lockdown has taught me to utilise my kitchen. I am not going to lie – if The Cave didn’t come with a dishwasher included in the rent, I would be living in PB&J sammies, served on paper plates and drinking my coffee out of a paper cup.Continue reading
I’m starting to feel a bit like a Dumb Belle because it’s been ages since I’ve even held a dumbbell, but I’ve got to start somewhere again, right?
In the words of Alanis Morrisette, Isn’t it Ironic? I haven’t had (well, I still don’t) an appetite for almost six weeks, yet I’m craving sugar. In the form of cake. Cheesecake, to be specific. And carrots – not in a cake, but not raw either. And leeks, so much so that I went to buy some yesterday. And a pepper steak pie – a borderline-food-poisoning-garage-pie. And no, I’m not pregnant. What I am, is tired. It’s a damn catch-22 situation because if I drink a full dose of the sleeping tablets the psychiatrist prescribed, I sleep for a good eight hours, but wake up tired because the meds have not entirely worked out of my system and if I drink half, I wake up between three and four AM regardless of what time I lay my head down and fall asleep to the beat of my heart thudding in my ears.
In an attempt to entice some kind of hunger for food within me, I’m going back to the gym, under the watchful eye of my friend (and personal trainer), Steve. I have my first session with him tonight, in thirty minutes in fact.
If I don’t post something, even a one-liner, tomorrow, check the local papers for my obituary. I imagine the headline will read something like Crazy Woman Cardios Herself into Cardiac Arrest with the byline Heavenly Heartrate Reached.
Besides the possibility that I’ll want to fill my stomach with more than just rooibos tea, I’m hoping that physically exhausting myself will allow me to sleep through without the daily aid of the sleeping tablets and that I’ll wake up feeling normal (whatever that is). I’m still a far cry from bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but I’ll get there.
Wish me luck!