It's not enough that I was putting myself at risk of cancers, I discovered that smoking was contributing to my worsening eyesight. Age-related Macular Degeneration is exacerbated by bad diet and smoking, did you know that? Neither did I, so it was a surprise when this was my diagnosis on a recent trip to the Optician. Early signs, they said. I just thought I was getting old, and this, along with loose pelvic floor muscles, is what to expect when you're getting old.
Except I'm not that old, yet. And my pelvic floor is fine, in case you were wondering. I hope you weren't.
I just realized that deteriorating eyesight will prevent me from doing too many of the things I enjoy - knitting, sewing, reading, cooking. I would be dumb, bored, and thin.
So I'm cleaning up my act. I've registered with a counsellor - Annette (and guess what? She's a knitter!) - who will take me through the first six weeks, and after that, I'm on my own. My new best friend Tosca Reno will help me to eat better. I hope she won't mind me calling her my new best friend, but I have been using her books and learning to Eat Clean, plus when I had an issue I e-mailed her office and got a personal reply. I love the fact that she's so famous she could have had an assistant reply, but chose to contact me herself. Plus her body is aspirational. Tosca, you are now my first Girly Crush, nudging Angie Dowds into second place. (Angie, I still love you, okay, but being Canadian and having impressive Bolt-Ons, Tosca is more exotic, you get me?)
As to the last post, we have had no further vermin activity since we plugged up all the 'points of ingress' that we have so far come across (I love that phrase, don't you?). Our home still looks like it's been burgled, as we continue to launder, clean, vacuum and toss out our stuff. Studley took a box of my shoes and put them in storage (Your Honour, can he do that?), while I am desperately trying to locate a package for Sistahcraft that has mysteriously gone missing, and I am too embarrassed to tell her. (If you are reading this - please forgive me, sistah friend - as soon as we locate it I will add something special to it and send it right along.)
I am tired, people. I want to stop cleaning. I want to stop exploring the properties of peppermint and tea tree oils. I want to end my weekly treks to the local charity shops to drop off more stuff. I want to stop picking slivers of steel wool out of my fingers. I want one day without the drone of the washing machine as my background muzak every morning. I want to stop listening for mice activity every night.
I used to use Home Routines to keep on top of stuff, but this is way more wife-work to do every day, and - to tell the honest truth - I would rather be in a job, or knitting in front of a DVD and, right now, I can't do either.
I'm going to stop now. I have no time to whinge or whine, no time to cuss or cry, and my big-girl panties are in the laundry.
Sigh. On with the motley.
