Don't tell me what to do 2016!!
Oh Lordy, what is it with a new year that makes people go bat shit crazy with these Goddamn resolutions?! I thought I’d resorted years ago to not do resolutions because all it is, is a lot of pressure and frankly I don’t like being told what to do, even if it’s me! But alas here we are. This year I’m going to not drink so much… check.
For a week.
And then I’m back to drinking like a hobo, you know, when they still have a little money and don’t need to be draining meths through bread…. I have standards people, and am a little afraid of what the gluten will do to me. It is a new year after all and am wanting to try new fancy things, like bragging about being gluten free – this is a lie, I’m not scared of gluten… doesn’t it just make you fart a lot? (I may need to read up on this, everyone can do with a little less farting… and technically farting less makes me greener doesn’t it (or is that cows?), and surely to be greener would be to check off another resolution??).
Just an FYI, this is just an example… I’d never give up wine. Well not for good anyway, it’s sirens song will always lead me back to its heady deliciousness…. This may or may not mean that I have a drinking problem.
This year I am going to be greener. Fart less. See above. I’d try my hand at composting my own rubbish too but then I fear that I would have to grow dreads and start smelling like patchouli oil too, and tie dye just isn’t my thing because I’m living in 2016 and I’m not on acid…
This year I’m going to swear less. Fuck that.
This year, I am going to lose 10kg’s. Well yes, this is obvious, because I ate my body weight in cheesecake over the last 3 weeks. Fuck you festive season and all your deliciousness (I’m lying, unfuck you, you were a delight). This one I will have to do, because my muffin top is now less of a muffin top and more of a … well I don’t even know…. What would you call it if your muffin reaches your knees? A Roly poly…?
Anyhoo, and yes, the kicker. Because Dalekins says I am goalless (is that even a word, like, spellcheck is not underlying that shit so it must be right) and this may be causing my slight depression lately (although I think it’s due to the price of avo’s have you seen that shit lately?? R45 for two! Come on!!!) he thinks I should start being a mad bastard like him and start running. Although he runs up mountains, literally (please refer to comment about him being a mad bastard).
He’s been kind and suggested… a short little 5km here and there, you know, to perk me up a little (not sure if he means my arse or my mood *suspicious face*). Now if you know me there is nothing short about a 5km run. You may as well have told me that I have to lunge and flex my glutes all the way to the Grand Canyon. I look after a toddler, who at any moment is pretty much like an excitable wet cat motoring it through the house like a Tasmanian devil, is this not enough?!! Apparently not.
Sooooooo I have started a program called “Couch to 5km” (mainly just to make him shush). I am on day 2 today, and literally only had to run for 8 minutes on Monday, and I am in fucking agony… If I were a penis, I’d be super happy about myself today because I am motherfucking stiff as a board and dreading this afternoon!! How am I going to run for another 8 minutes today? HOW! Why running for fuck sakes, of all the stupid things to choose… no one’s even chasing me!! Right now, I would rather be straddling an electric fence… with a wet vagina! wet... you know... from, rain and stuff.
Pray for me. Just pray…
