I have not run for two days on account of one day spent nursing Gregory (who ingested some strange water born bug resulting in the vomits) and today spent moving our stuff into our new place.
And since this blog is supposed to be about my training for a marathon, I don’t know what to write.
I could bore you with details about how I built our bookcase out of wooden wine boxes and arranged them artfully around light switches and power-points but who wants to read about that?
I could regale you with tales about my exploits with electricity and how all in one day (today) I managed to blow my parent’s air conditioner, which seems to have had some sort of negative effect on the TV, which is now claiming to have a ‘weak signal’ and refusing to show a picture, and follow all that by blowing a fuse in our new house when I plugged in an American appliance with the correct adaptor but no converter and the whole thing went up in smoke. Literally.
But again, who would want to read about that?
I could really get you going with talk of invoicing and how I’m finally learning to mind my own business, but I don’t even want to write about that.
And so I'll move on.
We are boldly heading towards the Puritan’s March. Also known as the third month of the year, during which Gregory, our friend Renee (and by default I) have decided to rid our diets of their excess. Renee is going for the Kath and Kim method of cigarettes and laxatives (which doesn’t sound too puritan to me) and Gregory is considering the recommendation of our friends to swallow a tapeworm.
“Are they cheap?” he asked.
Thirty days of sensible eating and zero tolerance for alcohol...except for events Renee already has in her calendar and occasions when Gregory feels it is necessary to drink with the boys at his new job. You can see already that we’re going to be wildly successful in our mission.
Tomorrow’s run will be a long one in an effort to reverse my recent behaviour, and I feel like the Russians might be just the people to keep me company.