When I woke up, I heard the telltale sign of traffic driving past on wet roads, so I looked out of the window to see snow everywhere. Not a lot, but enough to look pleasant from a warm bed. So that's cycling out of the question today. It's bad enough cycling in the summer without a buildup on black slush on the fringes that forces me further into the road to infuriate drivers who speed along angrily as if it's a clear dry day in July.
I'm back on the fags. As always, it crept up on me and I can't remember how that happened. I guess it's an extended hangover from the weekend where I've still got some left by Monday morning and I continue to buy more. Needless to say, it's depressing me, especially when I had uncharacteristic iron resolve back in November and I actually thought I'd cracked it. I'd even gone out on large drinking weekends and learnt to hate the habit like a true ex-smoker. But I've come full circle and feel like a heroin addict who's succombed to just one more hit.
But I know what the problem is, and it's the January factor. This time last year, I was a few months into a job I'd recently started and resolved to undertake for at least a year, so that afforded me the opportunity to right all my other wrongs, which I began with a vengeance. But now, I've got everything to change; looking for The Job, losing weight, getting in shape, and stopping smoking (again). The combined effort of attempting all this during the cold short depressing days has stopped me in my tracks.
I will probably go to New York next month to see my ex-on-off-girlfriend. I would at least like to be a bit fitter and slimmer and off the sticks for her, if not me.
Plus Jade actually is off to India on a PR exercise.
God, I fucking hate January.