I began my third last blogpost with the Enid Blytonesque exclamation, “What a fabulous few days!” Enid Blyton’s gone, boys and girls. And been replaced by Eeyore, who – as you all know – is a Very Sad Donkey.
What a rubbish few days!
I knew I had a deadline coming up. I’m going to Strasbourg in 48 hours, where I’ll be teaching a course for the month of July. I was going to look thinner by then. I am also meeting my supervisor tomorrow for the last time this academic year. I was going to have a chapter written.
I’m not thinner. And I have sweet feck all written.
Deadlines can freak me out, and as I’ve mentioned before, I tend to indulge in escapism. I’ve been escaping in food. Lashings and lashings of food. I’ve also been considering giving everything up, living in a forest and reading Proust for six months or so.
Last night I escaped the realities of life by watching a few episodes of the Gilmore Girls. It’s a great show, in spite of its terrible name and woeful theme music. It’s very difficult to watch it without a tiny part of yourself wishing you could be a single mother living in a small town in Connecticut.
I’ve spent the last few days at home in Cork, where my mother’s in hospital. It’s been a stressful time, which I’ve eaten my way through. But I feel a little proud of myself too. I wanted to smoke. Desperately. But I didn’t. Not one cigarette. It’s been six and a half weeks now. Phenomenal.
I’m in Dublin tonight and have 300 things to do before I leave. One is that I need to decide what I’m going to eat when I’m in France.
I’m terrified that whether I set big goals or small goals I won’t achieve either. I don’t know whether to go with the plan I was following successfully in March and bits of April, May and June. Or an easier one.
I’m going to spend the next day deciding and I’ll do a final (and no doubt awful) weigh-in on Friday morning and I’ll let you know then.