24th May
So despite my initial panic that my muscles would never loosen and I would be crippled with post-gym pain for the rest of my life, I recovered and have also returned. Not to the boxing class - I vow I will never inflict that much damage upon my body ever again, but I went to the gym and kept it nice and easy with a few hours on the exercise machines and my endorphins have risen so much that for at least half an hour a day I am actually forgetting that I have a broken heart.
I have failed to inform you why, during this time where I am nursing myself into a normal state, I am not working like every other sane adult on the planet. I am supposed to be on a 6 week holiday traveling the Caribbean with twatface, ironically we were meant to leave the day he shat on our relationship and walked out. I couldn't face going alone and so stupidly decided it would be better to lose all the money I had invested into the trip, avoid the hot weather, beautiful beaches, cocktails and sunsets and stay at home alone instead.
I am sitting in front of my full length mirror examining the wrinkles on my face. I swear there are at least 4 more lines on my face compared to a few weeks back. Sometimes when I look into the mirror I am never quite sure what I am expecting to see and get a slight shock by the person who is staring back at me. I mean not always, but sometimes I kind of expect a slightly younger, better looking, happier version of me, and I somewhat disappointing with reality. Today is one of those days, however I am heading out tonight so have a great excuse to fancy up my hair and face and pretend I am 10 years younger!
It is with such precision that I apply each of my 10 piece make up regime. I also wash, dry and tong my hair. Men get it so easy! All they need to do is shower and put on a new shirt, they don't seem to worry about their features, their eyelashes looking thin, eyebrows being messy or if there's enough bronzer on their cheeks. They also don't seem to have the same inability to choose an outfit from the wardrobe. I suffer from a disorder which does not allow me to leave the house after trying on the very first outfit. I have to create a selection and then with all my outfits spread on my bed narrow it down to between 3 - 5. I then have to try each one on, with various shoes and prance about in-front of my mirror. I check out how it looks if I am seated, standing and finally dancing with my arms in the air. It is so time consuming and half of the time I end up deciding on the first outfit 45 minutes after I initially picked it out of the closet. This of course is exactly what happens this evening. I settle on a pair of skinny black jeans, black stilettos and a gorgeous green low cut top. I am pretty happy with the end result and realize if I spent 2 hours each morning getting ready I would probably be a lot more satisfied with the lady in the mirror, I also realize that 2 hours each morning is extremely unrealistic and a slight waste of time.
The DubClub is busy we hover near the dance floor and watch in wonder at so many pissed youngsters so early in the evening. Its about 9.30pm and honestly, some of these people cant even hold themselves up. Eva is not quite herself I can tell she is very wary about me and eyeballing me a little too much. "Shots?" I ask hoping she will relax with a little more alcohol. A few rounds later and it works, we are propped at the bar chatting to a group of 19 year olds, asking them how they can possibly be old enough to be allowed in a club and do their parents know where they are? Its amusing and they think we are hilarious, which only encourages us further, we do another round of shots with them and decide to leave when the Justin Beiber lookalike puts his hand on Eva's arse.
Following the sound of 80's classics we trawl into The Bar to find it suits us much better. Not too many people, even less youngsters and plenty of places to sit (ouch we are getting old!). We are happily putting the world to right, bantering and slurring and generally having a great time when I feel the hot iron rod slice straight through my heart. The pain is unbearable, I feel like my organs are all exploding one at a time. I cant breathe and think I am going to throw up. He's here and has his hands all over some tall blonde. My eyes well up and I can see Eva's eyes dart around the room trying to find the source of my hysteria. It doesn't take her long, she spots the Devil and his Evil Witch and warns me to stay put. She marches straight over and I want to yell for her to stop but I am actually paralyzed. I watch her, in what seems like slow motion, pull them both apart and slap him full force across the face. As his face is smashed towards my direction I realize something doesn't look right. I spent years studying every single feature on his handsome face but at this moment in time I don't recognize any of them - can you really forget a face that quickly? I'm confused when it hits me like a punch in the stomach - FUCK it's not him! The blonde grabs Eva's hair and yanks her to the floor, I see her stumble onto her knees, grovelling and apologizing continually. I on the otherhand have sunk underneath the table. I am completely overwhelmed, flooded with relief but still feeling the real pain sobbing like a baby. Eva grabs me, pulls me from the table and with a look of shock and humor tells us we're leaving right now and literally pushes me out the door. We quickly dart into a nearby alleyway when she looks at me, I am blubbering and shaking, and just as she goes to say something, bursts into uncontrollable laughter. The next 5 minutes pass with me shifting from laughter to tears and back to laughter again, whilst Eva is still in absolute hysterics. Once she has calmed down, we buy a kebab and get a taxi back to my place.
As we sober up, huddled under a blanket on my couch, we are still trying to work out how Eva slapped an innocent man in the face. How could I mistake a complete stranger for the person I know inside out, we decide that in fact I did not know him well enough hence the sharp unexpected exit he took from my life. Even though it was a false alarm I realized tonight how people really can die from a broken heart. That minute of pain I felt in The Bar was so real, so fierce, so suffocating I knew I had to avoid any chance of feeling like that again. Eva suggests I book another holiday, a last minute trip to get away from this place I know so well, with so many memories and explore a little and relax overseas. I like the idea and promise myself that tomorrow I will look into options and try to escape if only for a little while.
Sunday 30 June 2013
Friday 28 June 2013
No Pain No Gain
19th May
Like a new woman I jumped out of bed as soon as my alarm went off this morning.
I dusted off my workout clothes, which have somehow shrunk slightly whilst hibernating in the closet, and headed for the gym.
The gym is busy, a little too busy and I am feeling extremely self conscious. I am bursting out of my fluorescent outfit and second guessing my decision to wear a headband. Everyone looks so fit and strong and so sure on the exact sequence of their work out. I take to the cross trainer, nice and slowly to begin with and start to feel real good about myself. There's a tap on my shoulder and WHHHOOAAAA a Brad Pit look alike is smiling at me, "I take a boxersize class here and need another person to make up numbers, you keen?" I start shaking my head knowing that it is not a good idea, "yes ok" damn it!!
Holy Crap, intense is an understatement. I felt like my arms were being ripped from their sockets. "Just hold the pads and resist" he yelled. Resist? I am doing everything I possibly can to prevent my opponent smashing my arms to pieces. How to people manage this. After an intense 45 minute workout we get to recover with two minutes straight punching on the bags - recover?! This guy is insane. It is pure torture. It is not fun and it can not possibly be good for you. I check myself in the mirror, bad move, I am the colour of beetroot and soaking in sweat, my eyes are blood shot and I am shaking like a leaf. I thank the instructor and promise to come back to another of his classes although we both know this is highly unlikely.
After a shower and some scrambled eggs I feel great! I return a few phone calls (much to the joy of friends who thought I had fallen off the planet) and decide to curl up and read my new book for a few hours. Naturally, me being me, I fall asleep.
I wake up some hours later, it's early evening and smile to myself. I feel good. I am taking control and its filling me with positivity. The phone rings, I attempt to get up and everything changes. I no longer feel good. I am in agony. I cannot move. I am paralyzed and in excruciating pain. Oh my god what on earth has happened to me?!! My neck, my back, my stomach, my arms, my legs, everything hurts! Shit, what was the last thing hot instructor said as I left the gym, oh that's right, "don't forget to stretch it all out when you get home". I forgot!
I'm in pain but at least it is physical pain, I know this will pass and I will be ok. Strangely the physical torture is ever so slightly distracting me from the emotional torture and I like the feeling that that something else other than my heart is hurting, and this pain will benefit me in the end. I finally manage to crawl to the phone, its Eva she's very excited, in an attempt to lift my spirits she has organized cocktails on Friday night, "Find your little black dress" she shrieks down the phone "we are hitting the town, and I don't care if you don't want to come, for my sake pretend you do and fake a smile all night if you have to". Easy! I can do that and it's probably a good idea I start drinking socially again, I can't keep relying on the antidote alone. I'm excited, providing the pain eases and I can actually walk by Friday, I think this could be exactly what I need.
Like a new woman I jumped out of bed as soon as my alarm went off this morning.
I dusted off my workout clothes, which have somehow shrunk slightly whilst hibernating in the closet, and headed for the gym.
The gym is busy, a little too busy and I am feeling extremely self conscious. I am bursting out of my fluorescent outfit and second guessing my decision to wear a headband. Everyone looks so fit and strong and so sure on the exact sequence of their work out. I take to the cross trainer, nice and slowly to begin with and start to feel real good about myself. There's a tap on my shoulder and WHHHOOAAAA a Brad Pit look alike is smiling at me, "I take a boxersize class here and need another person to make up numbers, you keen?" I start shaking my head knowing that it is not a good idea, "yes ok" damn it!!
Holy Crap, intense is an understatement. I felt like my arms were being ripped from their sockets. "Just hold the pads and resist" he yelled. Resist? I am doing everything I possibly can to prevent my opponent smashing my arms to pieces. How to people manage this. After an intense 45 minute workout we get to recover with two minutes straight punching on the bags - recover?! This guy is insane. It is pure torture. It is not fun and it can not possibly be good for you. I check myself in the mirror, bad move, I am the colour of beetroot and soaking in sweat, my eyes are blood shot and I am shaking like a leaf. I thank the instructor and promise to come back to another of his classes although we both know this is highly unlikely.
After a shower and some scrambled eggs I feel great! I return a few phone calls (much to the joy of friends who thought I had fallen off the planet) and decide to curl up and read my new book for a few hours. Naturally, me being me, I fall asleep.
I wake up some hours later, it's early evening and smile to myself. I feel good. I am taking control and its filling me with positivity. The phone rings, I attempt to get up and everything changes. I no longer feel good. I am in agony. I cannot move. I am paralyzed and in excruciating pain. Oh my god what on earth has happened to me?!! My neck, my back, my stomach, my arms, my legs, everything hurts! Shit, what was the last thing hot instructor said as I left the gym, oh that's right, "don't forget to stretch it all out when you get home". I forgot!
I'm in pain but at least it is physical pain, I know this will pass and I will be ok. Strangely the physical torture is ever so slightly distracting me from the emotional torture and I like the feeling that that something else other than my heart is hurting, and this pain will benefit me in the end. I finally manage to crawl to the phone, its Eva she's very excited, in an attempt to lift my spirits she has organized cocktails on Friday night, "Find your little black dress" she shrieks down the phone "we are hitting the town, and I don't care if you don't want to come, for my sake pretend you do and fake a smile all night if you have to". Easy! I can do that and it's probably a good idea I start drinking socially again, I can't keep relying on the antidote alone. I'm excited, providing the pain eases and I can actually walk by Friday, I think this could be exactly what I need.
Wednesday 26 June 2013
Under the Duvet
18th May
So today was the day I planned to get my life in order. Last nights alcohol consumption made me optimistic that getting ones life in order can be done by simply writing a list. In my case this is either not true, or I am not ready to face the future.
First of all I have a confession - last nights two large glasses turned into two bottles. Ummm yep I drank two bottles of wine, by myself, alone in my apartment, whilst perving on hot famous men on the Web. Pretty sad really. It was going great until the last glass - that one kind of tipped me over the edge. So at 3am, in a blubbering mess, I crawled sideways into bed and passed out.
Then my plan to wake up, face the world head on and start sorting myself out didn't quite go as expected. It could be the hangover, or my broken soul, or the fact that my bed is super comfy but today I haven't managed to make it out from under my duvet. Other than a super quick toilet dash (which for a split second I considered weeing just exactly where I was) I have been officially been hiding under the duvet for a grand total of 20 hours.
I feel gross, sweaty, tired (how can I still be tired???), sad, lonely and a tiny bit pathetic. I have an uncontrollable urge to call my mother, I know it will not help, in fact it will probably make things worse. She has every good intention in the world, but when she opens her mouth she has a knack for saying the exact things you do not want to hear. Example.... Last year I spent months training for a triathlon. I'd never competed in a race before and I had only recently learned to swim. I was excited and saw this as the opportunity to feel like I had really achieved something. It didn't quite go to plan. I had been practicing my swimming in a local pool. It's actually quite different when your swimming in the ocean, with waves, fully clad in a thick wetsuit. I was already huffing and puffing, sweating uncontrollably and quite shaky from the run when I made it to the swim section. I geared up and jumped in like an demented walrus, unfortunately just 100 meters in to the 500 meter swim I had to be rescued, apparently the commentator had declared there was a person imitating a drowning seagull and could someone please get her out of the water as it was distracting the other competitors. I hadn't even made it half way! I was so disappointed and low I called Mum for some much needed sympathy. "Oh darling, I do hope you're ok. To be honest I did wonder what you were playing at entering such an athletic competition, you know athletics really isn't your thing, plus you probably should have trained a bit more, and tried some swimming in the sea first". Brilliant. Thanks Mum! Everything I already know but didn't want to hear!
So on this occasion I think I will leave the phone where it is.
I can't spend the rest of my life hiding in bed so I make a vow to myself. Tomorrow I will go to the gym, burn off some anger and maybe lose a bit of weight in doing so. I haven't done any exercise since last years triathlon disaster so this can only be a step in the right direction.... I will get fit, beautiful and be all sporty like those hot young yoga instrcutors that walk around clutching their mats and water bottles. Slightly hungry I look around my room, there is a rice cracker on the floor under my desk. I don't know how long it has been there but it will do. I sprint to the other side of the room, as if the floor is about to fall from beneath me and then dive safely back into bed. The rice cracker is old, no crunch left, so I kind of nibble and suck on it until I fall back into a deep sleep.
So today was the day I planned to get my life in order. Last nights alcohol consumption made me optimistic that getting ones life in order can be done by simply writing a list. In my case this is either not true, or I am not ready to face the future.
First of all I have a confession - last nights two large glasses turned into two bottles. Ummm yep I drank two bottles of wine, by myself, alone in my apartment, whilst perving on hot famous men on the Web. Pretty sad really. It was going great until the last glass - that one kind of tipped me over the edge. So at 3am, in a blubbering mess, I crawled sideways into bed and passed out.
Then my plan to wake up, face the world head on and start sorting myself out didn't quite go as expected. It could be the hangover, or my broken soul, or the fact that my bed is super comfy but today I haven't managed to make it out from under my duvet. Other than a super quick toilet dash (which for a split second I considered weeing just exactly where I was) I have been officially been hiding under the duvet for a grand total of 20 hours.
I feel gross, sweaty, tired (how can I still be tired???), sad, lonely and a tiny bit pathetic. I have an uncontrollable urge to call my mother, I know it will not help, in fact it will probably make things worse. She has every good intention in the world, but when she opens her mouth she has a knack for saying the exact things you do not want to hear. Example.... Last year I spent months training for a triathlon. I'd never competed in a race before and I had only recently learned to swim. I was excited and saw this as the opportunity to feel like I had really achieved something. It didn't quite go to plan. I had been practicing my swimming in a local pool. It's actually quite different when your swimming in the ocean, with waves, fully clad in a thick wetsuit. I was already huffing and puffing, sweating uncontrollably and quite shaky from the run when I made it to the swim section. I geared up and jumped in like an demented walrus, unfortunately just 100 meters in to the 500 meter swim I had to be rescued, apparently the commentator had declared there was a person imitating a drowning seagull and could someone please get her out of the water as it was distracting the other competitors. I hadn't even made it half way! I was so disappointed and low I called Mum for some much needed sympathy. "Oh darling, I do hope you're ok. To be honest I did wonder what you were playing at entering such an athletic competition, you know athletics really isn't your thing, plus you probably should have trained a bit more, and tried some swimming in the sea first". Brilliant. Thanks Mum! Everything I already know but didn't want to hear!
So on this occasion I think I will leave the phone where it is.
I can't spend the rest of my life hiding in bed so I make a vow to myself. Tomorrow I will go to the gym, burn off some anger and maybe lose a bit of weight in doing so. I haven't done any exercise since last years triathlon disaster so this can only be a step in the right direction.... I will get fit, beautiful and be all sporty like those hot young yoga instrcutors that walk around clutching their mats and water bottles. Slightly hungry I look around my room, there is a rice cracker on the floor under my desk. I don't know how long it has been there but it will do. I sprint to the other side of the room, as if the floor is about to fall from beneath me and then dive safely back into bed. The rice cracker is old, no crunch left, so I kind of nibble and suck on it until I fall back into a deep sleep.
Sunday 23 June 2013
Avoid All Fuckwits
16th May
I am not a raging feminist. I am however still very bitter about a certain shitcock's exit out of my life.
Why is it that the one who promises they would take a bullet for you, ends up being the one pulling the trigger?
Last week we passed in the street. He stopped and said "heeeey you", in a super-gay-over-the-top-cheery-look-I'm-not-really-a-twat kind of voice.... I stop... hold my head high "hey hows thing (don't wait for response) I can't stop, super busy at the moment, really busy, lots of things to do, lots people to see", big smiley face "catch you another time" and walk off. I smile to myself and think wow - I am an independent strong woman who really doesn't give a shit anymore. Oh yeah!!! I can take anything.... ANYTHING!!! Then I am a little bit more honest with myself - oh my fricking hell that was hard, ouch stomach hurts, feels like I have been slapped in the face.... dont cry, dont cry, dont cry.... remember independent strong woman who can do anything, anything, ... anything but snuggle up with him, hold him, talk nonsense to him, anything except everything I want to do with him.
Lonely and sad, holding back the tears I drag myself home. Ok woman, get a hold of yourself. You have a choice here - do you want to be Bridget Jones or Jennifer Aniston (obviously I want to be Jennifer Aniston she is gorgeous, but also bounces back hotter and stronger than ever from her many breakups)? Ok I don't want anymore break ups, I'm not handling this very well, so really I don't want to be Jennifer but you get the gist of it. Remember he is a true arsewipe, a jerk, a wankbollock, he cheated numerous times and failed miserably to make you feel good. YOU DESERVE MORE!
Back to the Pinot Noir - I can always count on wine to make me feel better (if even only for a little while) tonight I have limited myself to just 2 glasses (large of course) and spent the evening drooling at hot bods on pinterest. Tomorrow I will make a plan to get my life back in order.......
I am not a raging feminist. I am however still very bitter about a certain shitcock's exit out of my life.
Why is it that the one who promises they would take a bullet for you, ends up being the one pulling the trigger?
Last week we passed in the street. He stopped and said "heeeey you", in a super-gay-over-the-top-cheery-look-I'm-not-really-a-twat kind of voice.... I stop... hold my head high "hey hows thing (don't wait for response) I can't stop, super busy at the moment, really busy, lots of things to do, lots people to see", big smiley face "catch you another time" and walk off. I smile to myself and think wow - I am an independent strong woman who really doesn't give a shit anymore. Oh yeah!!! I can take anything.... ANYTHING!!! Then I am a little bit more honest with myself - oh my fricking hell that was hard, ouch stomach hurts, feels like I have been slapped in the face.... dont cry, dont cry, dont cry.... remember independent strong woman who can do anything, anything, ... anything but snuggle up with him, hold him, talk nonsense to him, anything except everything I want to do with him.
Lonely and sad, holding back the tears I drag myself home. Ok woman, get a hold of yourself. You have a choice here - do you want to be Bridget Jones or Jennifer Aniston (obviously I want to be Jennifer Aniston she is gorgeous, but also bounces back hotter and stronger than ever from her many breakups)? Ok I don't want anymore break ups, I'm not handling this very well, so really I don't want to be Jennifer but you get the gist of it. Remember he is a true arsewipe, a jerk, a wankbollock, he cheated numerous times and failed miserably to make you feel good. YOU DESERVE MORE!
Back to the Pinot Noir - I can always count on wine to make me feel better (if even only for a little while) tonight I have limited myself to just 2 glasses (large of course) and spent the evening drooling at hot bods on pinterest. Tomorrow I will make a plan to get my life back in order.......
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