Over a week spent cycling to work every day, then swimming, then cycling home - with ten hours no-time-for-lunch-or-any-other-kind-of-break stress in between due to boss being away and running everything virtually solo.
Total weight loss thus far: two fucking pounds. Normal for most people, not normal for me considering this is week two and I normally lose tons when embarking on a 180° lifestyle change. Fucking stubborn middle age.
I haven't smoked or drank this year (barring the fags I used up on New Year's Day, and a bottle of wine that was lying about the flat last Saturday) - and I don't miss either except, it has transpired, on weekends when I get twitchy and bored and feel I should be doing something big and rowdy and conspicuously expensive.
I have developed a twitchy left eyelid and a painful mouth ulcer because the boss is away in Japan - thus I am virtually running the company solo. His father, the MD, and another colleague are with me too, but generally they pass all calls and queries on to me anyway - even when I'm on other calls or with cuntstomers.
I will now be looking for another job in earnest. I simply ain't paid enough for all this.
This year, I've been tentatively looking at my novel, my magnus opus first draft I shat out last year with a view to re-writing it into draft two. But it's shit, awfully, awfully shit. I can't even look at it on the page as it fills me with regret and bile and angst - so there's goes my successful literary career.
My sparse communications with ex-American ladyfriend have hit an all-time low. Although it would appear that she doesn't object to me flying out to the States to meet her for lunch or some such shit, neither is she particularly overjoyed at the prospect in the slightest, causing me to evaluate why I'm even going there in the first place.
So I'm not.
I've taken the hint.
After almost a year.
All I have to do is change fucking everything.
And now to do some sit ups, change, and cycle to work.
In the rain.