A Bit Behind – Again

Last week I decided to detox – big time. Needless to say, as I always do, I zoomed straight on in with the big guns, and then felt like I was about to clock out from my stint on this mortal coil quite a few times. I really wasn’t expecting such a massive result, with aches and pains and headaches and all sorts of lovely things. I’m sticking with it for a couple of weeks at least anyway though, but at least I’m not (wo)man down any more. So I might be a bit late now and then, but that is my brand after all.

Food is a funny thing. It really is true that whatever you put into your body will have some sort of effect on you. Right now I’m feeling very slooshy about my body, and sorry for the poor thing in general. I’ve cut out sugar for the moment, and BOY does that stuff call you when you can’t eat it. I’ve been googling sugar substitutes, and I reckon I’ll be going with Xylitol for a bit, and dark chocolate instead of my usual Turkish Delights and Condensed Milk out of the tin with a spoon.

I thought I was a clever bunny, eating a bit of plain yoghurt for breakfast, healthy salads and so on for lunch, and then justifying my addiction to sweets and corn chips every afternoon with the fact that I don’t eat supper. Naah. Apparently I’m not as cool as I thought I was. So. I’m thinking that a bit of no junk food until these weird and uncomfortable withdrawal symptoms end is the way to go. It’s the scribbling’s fault.

Before I started parking my bum in front of my computer for most of my waking hours every day, I was really fit, and could easily see the muscly bits on my stomach. Well. Two years on, and I realise that I’m going to have to get off my tush for at least some time every day, and do some bouncing around. I don’t think that wanting to look good is a vanity – mostly – it really is all about health, although I don’t see anything wrong with looking the best that you can. Why not?

So fellow scribblers. Beware of lurking in your darkened pit for too long, while your backside flattens and widens at the same time in the image of your comfy writer’s chair. You already know that you are allowed to do pretty much anything under the “I’m a writer, and whatever I do is normal in my world” clause. Don’t bother with gyms and bikes and things. Step things up a little with proper writerly exercise. After every six hours in the chair, leap up, dash out of your front door, and run wildly around your yard (or the block depending on the size of your yard) windmilling your arms and chanting aloud the last paragraph you wrote. See what I’m doing here – still editing, but burning bum fat at the same time.