Oh god it really was Monday. Had to drag myself out of bed and really fight hard to get into work today. It was like sending someone to the gallows. The pace was slow. The head resentful.
After of weekend spent eating my own body weight weight in cakes n stuff this morning was not the most energetic on record. The sugar hangover. head fuzzy and suit just a little uncomfortably tight. My suits don't give much room for manoeuvre as since my mid 30's my clothes have become tighter than a virgins quim. Any tighter and they would be Catsuits.
Still, not as bad as hangovers in the old days when i drank. Not that i made it into work of course. The decision not to go in would have been made long ago (Sunday afternoon in fact) to continue and not disturb the drinking.
I don't miss those hangovers, they were starting to become savage 2 dayers. The dry mouth, the raging thirst that no amount of orange juice, tea, water, diet coke would quench. The dog tiredness that only a month long sleep could cure. The tired deep set eyes that looked like you've just done an Alice Cooper tribute. The sweats. The smell. The eternal Yawn so hard you sucked the entire room dry of oxygen. Basically i looked and felt like shit. In fact i did work a favour by not going in!
A sugar hangover is of course very different, but it has it's origins in the same place. Today was no different. I was sponsored by Tate & Lyle.
It's odd, when you work in a large office you seem to get sucked into the false light and computer buzz atmosphere. Like the world outside doesn't exist. I did my work, cracked on with things and luckily i was right on the ball to proof the business cards. Thank fuck i went in, otherwise this crucial task would never have been done.
Whilst Greece balances on the edge, whilst the Euro is in crisis, whilst the world waits on the edge of financial ruin and meltdown i had to proof 34 business cards for the troops. I was never more aware of my responsibilities than ever before. Obama called late afternoon to check on the card situation. I told him it was under control. Phew.
I forgot about feeling crappy all day whilst in that false office environment, until i left, got back home and proceeded to completely zone out. Laying on the bed thinking blinking is an effort.
I cancelled my meeting (Bad Nick) and went out for a very slow 6 mile run. To get out the door took all the effort of sailing single handedly round the world. I was listening to my head too much. Trying to talk me out of it. After all Grand Designs was on More 4.
I rejected all notions of doing fuck all, and trotted out into the early evening and did a run that can only be described as leisurely. I was overtaken by several mobility scooters, a dog walker, an OAP, someone with Muscular Dystrophy and a 3 legged dog. I was struggling. Still it was nice to get out for 2nd time in 2 days and see the river, Richmond hill and vowed to myself to run every day for 5 miles once again to get back on track. MMMM, lets see if i can do the whole run a 6am thing tomorrow.
I did some work in the evening (some, well a little - OK 2 emails) and settled down to watch Dirty Harry. Definitely the only guy in the world who can look hard in a crympline tracksuit and pastel t-shirt.
No TOWIL update today, shamefully i didn't call Brymoor Road. Clearly I'm a bad Grandson and should rot in hell.
Tomorrow my lovelies. There's always tomorrow
x
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