Acceptable in the 80’s

No lying down yesterday in Blaze, which helped everything considerably. It also goes to prove that if you ask me to keep going now, I can and I will. Yes, there was an occasional break to breathe in that, but not much. The pre-exercise routine was over 430 calories too, which made last night a solid 800 plus calorie night. This is the benchmark going forward.

However, I’m not gonna lie, I am INCREDIBLY tired. This week has taken it out of me emotionally, but more importantly there is a physical cost with my neck that has been difficult to quantify. I went to see the physio this morning, in the vain hope she’d be able to do something that would ease my issues, and with the help of antihistamines the balance issues are now gone.

Let’s hope it stays that way.


Right, back to the poetry.


A lot to unpack from last night:

  • That was easy. Even with the loss (effectively) of the last round I pushed, HARD. Changes to breathing have made a huge difference. 75% knowing how I felt, and that I could have pushed, is significant.
  • They have changed the booking rules which means last-minute cancellations will now award a penalty. About time.
  • It’s frustrating I can’t do either of my normal classes next week: but thinking about it, I could fit two in on Tuesday and Friday instead. So, that’s what I’ll do.
  • The fact I’m thinking how I fit in a 55 and a 45 class next week when most normal people would be looking forward to a rest is, in itself, a massive step forward. One is with the co-ordinator. I look forward to seeing how other people coach.

I need three days on antihistamines to eliminate the possibility it is hay-fever causing my balance issues. As a rule, I don’t take anything tablet-based because previous history has shown that’s enough to send me to sleep in short order. However, these were the days when hormones affected everything, and without that to worry about? Time to see how things go, and I’m already more aware and comfortable than I have been since Sunday.

I’d sleep if I had the chance, but honestly there is too much to do right now.

And Finally: Retweets are absolutely endorsements of how I feel about certain subjects, or indicators that saying you’ll do things in the modern world is a LONG way away from actually making them happen. I’m getting really tired of people in my feeds feeling that whenever I retweet a contentious or newsworthy item, they feel obliged to respond. Amazingly, most of these responses come from men.

Having an opinion is not facts. It is how I feel. If all you ever do under the auspices of ‘interaction’ is respond to my retweets, it isn’t communication either. It’s just you telling me your opinion. Amazingly most, if not all of the women I speak to can create organic, comfortable reciprocal dialogue, and I never feel creeped out. It never feels as if I’m just being spoken to as lip service, or to try and show interest.

A lot of the men in my feed REALLY need to stop making it look like all they are interested in is following women without actual consequence…

Take Me Out

I had a meeting yesterday, at the local arts collective, where I’d applied to take an in-house Residential space. Not being accepted was understandable: there was no portfolio of note to present, lack of back catalogue to refer to. However, there are now options and inroads, possible paths that were perilously unmarked. I have a ton of potential options, including a speaking gig in September.

There’s also a 1-2-1 with a literary agent when I get to Leeds next month, which requires me to finally decide which of my selection of long-form works should get the push. That’s still not clear, either. I have a phenomenal amount of stuff suddenly to think about, and a brain that is still struggling with the action of moving from lying to standing. However, I could do burpees this morning without too much discomfort, so that’s progress.


In a change of plans, I’m going to my Mother in law’s funeral next week, which will mean I’ll have to work extra hard to make up the exercise shortfall. With a laptop and a cloud drive, all my work can be done wherever I happen to be, of course, including the back of a van on a motorway. The process of writing poetry continues apace, it should be possible to be into my final edit next week without too much stress. The website is ready.

Time to do the work.

Levi Stubbs Tears

Then I came home, really looking forward to the caramel chocolate I’d hidden in the fridge for emotional emergencies, only to find my eldest had eaten the lot. Then I cried because I was sad.

There’s a lot of work still to do.

Last Train to Trancentral

My head is full of fluid, caused no doubt by pollen allergies, but also due to me inhaling the shower last night. I’m an idiot, when all is said and done; only I could do self-care that ends up doing more damage than good. Needless to say, because eldest has an exam today and I’m on taxi duty, there’s no PT. That would just be dumb.

However, there will be more poetry, which is going surprisingly well. Let’s be honest, there was never really any doubt it would be hard work. It’s a labour of love, and I have so much to write about the problem is working out what doesn’t get included. I am on course for my first draft completion, on schedule, and that alone is glorious.

Right, must get on.


If I needed a confirmation this is the right way to go, yesterday provided it in spades. A Saturday rejection was accepted and moved on from in under an hour (probably less) pushing me to finish site back end work that’s been put off for months. My daughter came and hugged me before bedtime. Husband’s out this morning, cycling around the county and everything is pretty much as perfect as it is possible to be.

Yes, I’d like to win something, but to do that I need to get better first.


Is that better or Better, I find myself asking? I’ll grant myself the realisation that the mental side of things is more significant right now, that far more is being gained from the process of counselling than writing. However, that’s likely to alter as time goes on, obviously, especially as my work matures and develops. There has to be this continuous reminder, we’ve only been at this for two years.

Hard work matters everywhere: on an exercise machine, in the Gym, in relationships and friendships. I’m still kicking myself I missed a close friend’s birthday last week because that’s simply not where the head-space is right now. This is more thinking about myself than has taken place for a decade. As a result, and with other real life trauma to balance, I shouldn’t beat myself up too much about it. But I will.


That means being up this early on a Sunday to make the most of quiet time before the day starts (and cricket, it’s great to have a World Cup to listen to) and then focusing mind to actually get the jobs done that need work. Having almost completed all the back end stuff last night, that’s what gets finished this morning, after which I can finish off the first draft of the Southend poetry.

It is already a brilliant day, and it’s only just begun.

Making Your Mind Up

It is odd how your brain imagines the world sometimes: I’ve read articles on how we self-sabotage, that normal events are blown out of all proportion to help brains reinforce the sanctity of their world views. Speaking as someone who thought, quite seriously, someone had moved house just so they could avoid instigating a friendship with me, it’s amazing what you’ll believe when view is always faced inward.

Looking outwards changes absolutely everything, I realise now. Not only does everything taste better, or feel more comfortable, but the way other people perceive themselves and the world comes under fresh scrutiny. The scales really do fall from your eyes: suddenly variables shift; all it takes is a slight move from yourself to see same situations from a completely different angle.

Asking other people to restructure their world views is a mugs game in the modern world. Even the suggestion directly that they might be the problem and not the thing being so vociferously complained about will be met with derision, anger and often abuse. I am reminded of the guy who lost all this marbles when we fell out over, of all things, Pink Floyd.

That resulted in a phenomenal amount of abuse, a great measure of it anonymous. You often have no idea how obsessed other people get about you and your life. The creepier it gets, the more the desire grows to just cut these people out for good, because explaining their behaviour is unpleasant for you only makes things worse. It’s why the block works, as a final, decisive means of saying ‘stop it.’

Except, of course, if the person is obsessed enough, it never will.


I have the confidence now to push the people I truly care about to think again about their choices, to chastise myself in public when my own actions are not up to scratch. If I’m gonna spend an hour yesterday justifying my motivation to an anonymous stranger with 100% confidence, summat most definitely has changed. I’m no longer here for drama, that’s for damn sure, and if you’re doing it to attract attention?

Expect me to stop listening pretty damn fast.