Well hello there. I know it’s been a while but I’ve been away, you see – not in the geographical sense, but one of those metaphysical, allegorical journeys to Righting-Wrongston (not far from Cheersville.) In doing so I’ve shed 21 lbs (or a stone and a half in old money), mainly by cutting out almost all shit, and exercising like I’m trying to power a small Welsh village with my legs.
And I’m almost 74% sure I’m not done yet.
Bored and somewhat twitchy though I’m getting with all this healthy living, I’m still keen to lose another stone. I want to be ‘normal’ on those doctors’ charts.
By and large it’s been bearable. It's only happened through a combination of utter stubbornness, positive thinking, and a book*. And as such it’s not been possible to keep up a blog of misery.
Until now that is, because I’ve not slept and my ears are hissing like a burst waterpipe while my head throbs and I’m confused and non-specifically angry – but then again I did spend the weekend avoiding fireworks and human companionship as I sat in front of my computer watching clips of comedian Jim Jefferies at such an awkward angle that I’ve put my back out.
So things are bloody brilliant on a bullshit, superficial level, but less so on a personal one as the boring minutia of my dull life slowly dawns on me;
- Practically all my friends are married now, and with children, and we’ve all inconveniently moved away from one another.
- This means my social life is essentially spent waiting for a specific, pre-arranged night out that, besides being as rare as hen’s teeth, is also violently boozy, and I’m afraid I’m finally bored of drinking.
- You see, barring the occasional tipple, I simply can’t see the point in getting insensibly drunk anymore. It’s getting expensive for one thing, and fattening for another, plus the hangovers seem nigh on unbearable.
- In addition I’ve got a responsible job with the unfortunate side-effect of being poorly paid (last week I spotted a receptionist vacancy with the same starting salary as mine now), and what with the high cost of living plus Christmas, I’ve begun staying indoors trying to not spend any money.
Which is fine but we’re social animals – even me – and I need to, I dunno, do something that doesn’t involve seeing a chiropractor on Monday morning because I spent a whole weekend alone in the same twisted, horizontal position while I soberly hunt down gross-out comic routines on the internet.
Basically what I’m trying to say is I really need a girlfriend.
Which brings me neatly onto that *book I’d read that could be my gamechanger … The Game.
That's what single-handedly inspired me to diet in the first place, which is odd as it’s a tome I steadfastly refused to read in the past, mainly because it’s about picking up as many women as possible and frankly, that’s crass.
Yet: ‘Never judge a book by its cover’.
I had thought that buying the above would do nothing more than enrich a smug, sleazy fannychaser who was trying to impress me with fatuous tales about the large number of women he’d nobbed, but after being repeatedly talked into getting it by RUSSELL, I discovered that the author was actually one of me; a gimp, a loser, a bit of a twat, until a work assignment came his way that changed his life completely.
He got into shape and smartened up, which is (almost) where I am now. He also started talking to women, an important point which could prove my undoing as I haven’t actually done anything about that yet. Bit important that one, but I hope to do something about that soon - I think.
Y’know, approach women, chat, not cry in front of them, that kind of thing.
Or I could do the other thing that’s currently infected my brain…
I could go out and buy a palletload of Krispy Kremes, and take the lot home and fuck it in a sugarcoated orgy of shame and regret.
Call it a crossroads, if you will.