I am having an excellent few days. Yesterday, I woke up to the joyous news that One Direction’s album debuted at Number One in America. Yippee-ki-yay! They are the first ever British band to do this. This makes them better than the Spice Girls and Take That, than Blur and Oasis, than Coldplay and Keane, than the Kinks and Pink Floyd, than the Beatles and the Rolling Stones. So there, World. OneD’s brand of pure happiness kicks serious bottom.
Joy was piled on joy as the next piece of news came in: S Club 7 are reforming. They didn’t lie. They can’t stop moving to that funky, funky beat.
I have now been in college in the early morning three days in a row, beating my supervisor to his desk twice. Yesterday morning I was in such a good mood that I sneaked off to a stairwell in the Arts Building to have a spontaneous boogie alone.
The boys’ election is tonight. I was working tonight so I missed the final event of the campaign, during which the candidates (the majority of whom have not yet reached their twentieth year) strip in front of the population of Hall “for charity” straight before voting starts. It’s probably for the best that I’m missing it. Probably. I’ll make it in time to vote though. I couldn’t not. I’m still a little too worried about the result for my own good.
Life is good. I’m happy. The PhD is going well. So is work. And home. And social life. All good. And yet. And yet. I’m eating as badly as I ever have. And I’m very cross with myself.
I know I won’t smoke tomorrow. I know I’ll do my Couch-to-5K tomorrow. And that I’ll get up. And study. So I do have some kind of grit. And yet I’m eating myself sick for no good reason.
I went to WeightWatchers on Tuesday. I gained three and a half pounds last week. That’s me back over 24 stone. Fuck.
I’ll fix it. Somehow. I have to. Till next time, wish me luck, my dearies!