The first coffee of a hangover-free Saturday morning : bliss. I’m sitting looking out over my garden, gazing at the cold, clear, blue Yorkshire sky, porridge bubbling (burning? Must check..) on the hob.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s taken me an hour since being first woken by Twin 1 and “Monk” arriving in my bed to actually getting my bum on this chair. I’ve lit the woodburner, sorted small-child breakfast viewing (Dipdap), taken breakfast orders, revised breakfast orders, added chocolate to the breakfast orders, fed the cat, lit the woodburner (again), replenished the breakfast bowls, resolved arguments etc. But all of this has been so much easier without the thick head, roiling stomach, pounding heart, and heavy chest of anxiety that the previous night’s drinking would have wrought upon me.
It’s been a good few days. I’m aching like a bastard from an advanced Pilates class I started on Thursday night. I made it through my three days at work fairly easily. I even made it through tasting 4 different wines at work yesterday, without too many pangs of distress. (Note: I “spat” where I’d usually have swallowed, and cheerfully turned down the proffered glass of something to sip at my desk whilst sorting the accounts).
Work will continue to be a challenge (more on this later) but, here I am on Day 6, feeling pretty strong.
I’ve decided on a treat to myself for reaching 20 days; a new cafetiere for one, a grinder, and some super-expensive coffee beans, which will probably have passed through the intestines of some exotic animal and been coated in gold leaf or something, y’know, to achieve that amazing flavour.
Right, wishing you all a happy Saturday wherever & whatever. I’m off to have some double cream on that porridge now, because my calorie deficit this week must already be in the thousands, and so I bloody well can.