Not sure what a bleat is, read this. Unfortunately, this week's bleats are all of the Eeyore persuasion. Sorry.
Seriously, enough already. I am done being ill. Sure, it's a great weightloss programme. But it is so incredibly boring. You can't leave the house. No-one wants you to go near them in case you infect them. You don't want to eat or drink and a diet of plain toast and rooibos tea is not stimulating. I don't even want to drink wine. Yes folks, I am THAT ill. Everything is an effort. How people with terminal diseases find the energy to climb mountains or cycle naked around the country for charity I have no idea. I can't summon the will to take the washing out of the machine that has been there since Wednesday.
The same way that I applaud seriously ill people for their gumption, I'd like to applaud single parents. This week I have been a single parent. I am a single parent on a regular basis as my husband travels for work. However, being a single poorly parent is hell on earth, particularly when you add poorly kids to the mix. What's more, it is very, very lonely. And boring. That word again.
Am I the only person in Britain who feels we haven't had our fair share of the white stuff? Berkshire, the tropical oasis of England. Sure the ground is covered in a sprinkling of snow and we have a high of -3C but it's not like it's enough to get the plastic paddle sled things out that I purposefully bought before they sold out - unlike every other year when I've been woefully unprepared.
I confess, this week my children have either been at school or watching tv/playing wii. That is it. Apathy levels and poorliness have turned me into a negligent parent. Perhaps I should add the tag #don'tcare.
Following a rather marvellous Thanksgiving Meal (which thank god we managed to eat before the virus of doom struck our house) my cooking skills have gone somewhat awry this week. Roast chicken in a bag on Monday wasn't bad. Leftover roast chicken in a not great stirfry Tuesday, which made a reappearance later that evening. Egg and beans for kids on Wednesday. Hotdog sausages and chips for kids on Thursday. And I have no sodding idea for today.#don'tcareonceagain
We all have them. But when you run your own business, you can't go and bitch to a colleague about it. You have to just project a fabulous inner calm and all-will-be-well-persona. This week was particularly trying. I won't bore you with the details, but suffice to say that we had a fab client story which should have been picked up all over the place. Yet for whatever reason (still not sure why) it wasn't. I started out baffled moved to furious and ended up despondent and ready to pack my PR bags and leave for the sunny climes of waitressing or similar. There was a small silver lining when a radio station finally picked up on it today, but it's not enough. Damn your eyes journalists. I will not be defeated.
Hello kettle, meet pot. Here I am writing a blog full of self-pity and deathly dull subject matter, which I will post onto twitter and Facebook. Yet, I am actually bored of social media. Facebook I'm still cool with because the people on there are my friends - although I have recently done a friend cull. But Twitter is just so ME ME ME. It's all about 'bigging yourself up' (#annoyingphrases) and bloggers trying to blag things (not all!) and intellectuals trying to sound clever. It's all so fake. Yet, due to aforementioned job, it is a requirement that I partake in tweetville. I need to increase my interaction with the real world and step away from the keyboard.
I am aware that this blog post makes Eeyore looking like a prozac abuser in comparison to my obvious happiness with life right now, so I shall try to end on a happy note. We do have things to look forward to. Husband returning home tomorrow. 2kgs lost this week which will make getting into a swimsuit over Christmas easier. Christmas in South Africa i.e. a hot place requiring of swimsuits. The Eclipse DVD coming out next week. A new year in which I shall make some resolutions which I SHALL keep. Life changing ones. Watch this space. I won't be ill forever and when I am back on form, I intend to kick my own butt.