Wow. Everything is seriously slowed down. I am gradually becoming more and more lethargic. If you threw me into a tree ( neither feasible nor advised in my current condition I’ll grant you), I would land ungraciously with a thump on a sturdy branch and stretch my tired limbs out along the bark, yawning indulgently whilst embracing my new found inner sloth.
My mother would probably hasten to point out that had any readers met me as a 15 year old they would have seen something very similar. During the summer holidays I struggled to surface from my ‘pit’ before 11am and even with 6 more hours ahead with nothing to fill them with until she returned from work, I’d still manage to not find the time or energy to do the hoovering. Even now, most times we speak on the phone and she asks me how I am – I reply with ‘tired’. Don’t worry – I’m fully aware that my internal barometer for what constitutes being tired will change dramatically in nine months’ time, but the sheer exhaustion I feel today has still come as something of a shock.
There I was getting worried about a lack of symptoms when it now feels like my previous momentum has driven me straight onto the grill of a 16 wheeler in a Wily Coyote style ‘splat’. I am now in the comedic slide down the front of the truck to curl into a flattened heap on the floor.
I was all excitable, full of the joys of spring. Now however – nearing the end of my sixth week, I find myself thoroughly bored. I can’t tell anyone bar the GTBs (grandparents to be). I have to keep pretending I haven’t stopped my 5:2 diet whilst hoping someone doesn’t notice me eating biscuits every day. I have to try and pretend I’m awake – this is a feat in itself when I could quite easily crawl up right here under my desk and have a kip. They’ve finally turned off the bloody air con vent above my desk so I wouldn’t even have to put my coat over me now, I’d be quite comfortable.
It is just so hard to get excited about anything when you feel so drained. It’s holiday season so whilst my team are stretched resource wise and busy, my to-do list isn’t quite so long as planning meetings are on hold as half the people aren’t here and the cascade from on high of random jobs has slowed down a little as they know that people are under pressure. I thrive on pressure. Particularly when you consider that I don’t really like the content of my current job that much, I need the urgency placed upon me by others to keep me motivated. At the moment the days are stretching out in front of me like a drugs mule prison sentence in Peru.
I’ve only had a bit of morning nausea which it seems with a bit of advanced planning I can head off at the pass with a Jacobs Cream Cracker. Here’s hoping that doesn’t get any worse. My sympathy goes out to women who have persistent and aggressive morning sickness. At least nausea doesn’t really add to the fatigue but if I’d spent most of the day cuddling the loo I think I’d barely make it from the office to the train station without a fireman’s lift.
I’m still doing my 3.5 mile walk in my lunch hour. Admittedly this may be contributing to my post lunch exaggerated slump, however I think it’s really important I try and keep this up for as long as possible. I’m hoping to have bingo wings the size of a mini Alexa, not a large Bayswater. I’ve always had a bit of a pot belly anyway, it doesn’t matter how much weight I lose it’s always sat there, smiling up at me like a loyal Cocker Spaniel. So I think it’s safe to say once I’ve had a watermelon stuffed in there for a few months it’ll probably be ‘Goodnight Vienna’ to the size 10s for good no matter what I do. I’m no Jane Fonda after all, I just walk a lot and swing a kettlebell back and forth in my kitchen a few times a day.
Besides all of which I figure I need to be in the best shape I can be… well the best shape that results from the requisite effort I am willing to put in, which is probably better than many but not most and less than some but not all. I can be content with that, but boy is it knackering. I would say that this lunchtime there was less of a ‘sprite’ in my step and more of a ‘woolly mammoth’ but I gave up my dignity long ago when I started charging round the city centre in business dress with socks and trainers. I figure I rarely see the same person twice and those I do already had me down for a weirdo weeks ago – like the group of bus drivers who sit waiting for their changeover in the same place every day eating their Greggs* out of the paper bag… Ugh!
*Greggs denotes random assorted pastry items which can only be consumed whilst walking or sitting down in municipal areas. This is the law.
The lights are out. The bunny has stopped drumming so to speak. I sigh when I stand, I sigh when I sit. Everything is just too much damn effort. I feel like a stoner on an apprenticeship. I’m dragging my carcass round this joint with the sole purpose of paying for my chosen luxury fix… boxes of Magnum Infinity Double Chocolate, L’Occitane Cherry Blossom hand cream and a regular visit to Wagamama’s. Still I will get a baby at the end which I can take to Wagamama’s in an ‘urban-chic, look at me with my cool Waga’s friendly, Gap Kids, Chicken Katsu eating offspring’ type way. A baby that will not grow up to eat Greggs on the street and therefore will reduce the number of potential said offenders by one. Love that.