Apologies for my silence, Dear Reader. I have been ill. *sigh* Again.
The tummy pain is back with a vengeance… almost to pre-surgery levels. It’s stopping me from doing things. I hate that.
I haven’t been to the gym in WEEKS. I haven’t trained, haven’t done weights, haven’t been to a SINGLE class. Ugh. And you know what? Not only do I feel awful, my skin has gone really ratty too. Who knew that even my SKIN was benefiting from exercise? I know it makes sense, skin being the largest organ, etc, but sheesh!
(Fortunately when I was at the GPs today to get a coupla new scripts and a referral to Yet Another Expensive Doctor, I jumped on the scales: 98 kg. I honestly thought that I would have been back over the 100kg mark, what with not worrying about calories AT ALL while I was away, and not going to work out. )
I have done no sewing. Not even tracing patterns. Or finishing off a dress that only needs armhole and neck bindings and a hem to make it wearable.
I have managed a small amount of house cleaning, though. I get tired of living in my mess every so often and then tend to overdo things (does that sound familiar to anyone else?) so I’m limiting myself to half an hour a day of solid housework.
Mr Beloved, Constance J. Woodle, Miss Kit Tern and the birdies are all well, if slightly bored by my constant whining about my tummy hurting.
We watched a documentary yesterday about guitars (Mr Beloved is a talented muso, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned that? All self taught, and very fond of experimental music and mucking about on guitars) and he said:”Do you think I would be less depressed if I played more often?”
Do you think *I* would be less depressed if I actually sewed/made art more often?
It’s all about balance, isn’t it?