I have become one of those. Yes, one of THOSE. That talks about the gym, their workouts and their food. Phil is doing his best to be supportive but I know inside he is doing major stink eye at me. I literally talk about my aching muscles daily. He’s a saint. A saint that’s screaming, SHUT UP ABOUT YOUR GODDAMN MUSCLES, on the inside. I imagine it’s like living with one of those Crossfit fanatics. Ugh.
I’ve realised this year how much I fucking love reading. If I had a profile on Tinder it would say; Hobbies: reading & wine. Preferably together. In fact my reading list contains 342 books, I don’t have time for you. Swipe left. Phil thinks my reading is anti-social, I’ve offered many times to read aloud so he can enjoy too, but he’s having none of it. Instead he watches football, reads the newspaper or cleans the flat. One does not need to sit and stare at their significant other for hours on end. He knows I love him, even when I want space and don’t want to be in the same room as him.
Sometimes I hate mine and sometimes I adore them. I’ve never known what to do with them. They were always my pet-peeve of personal maintenance and make up. I’d rather cut my toe nails any day! Most days I’d ignore my eyebrows. Which, looking back now, probably was the best thing I could have done. I’ve seen so many of the thin 90’s ‘brows. That thin line of lost hairs trailing over an eye – scary. I remember as a kid we once had a babysitter who had drawn on pencil-thin eyebrows. Oh the nightmares. In truth the poor woman probably had alopecia, but we were shit scared of her, and her angry eyebrows.
For as long as I can remember I’ve been a person who jumps in. Puts my hand up, even when it may not be wanted. Or simply reaches out to help. I don’t know where this has come from – whether I’m overly confident or due to my upbringing of my Mum always telling me I can do anything.
Do you ever wish you could just pack a bag, a few of your loved ones (not all, we want this to be tranquil) and jump aboard a plane or ship to a small island somewhere in the Caribbean or Mediterranean? Somewhere you could set up a new village, eating only local produce and fish from the sea. Cut off from technology, politics, underground hot-boxes that transport you from A to B (I mean you, London Underground tube), people who piss you off, people who inflate anxiety and stress. SO MUCH. So much one could escape from.