The Reality
OK, so that was me being all Impressive and Sensible and Level-Headed and all that, but just as I can't decide whether The Answer lies in Getting On With Stuff or Taking It Easy, I also get a bit stuck on the whole body/food/relaxation thing.
On the one hand, I understand the connection between body and mind, and I want to be as healthy as possible in preparation for procreation, and I reckon I'd feel better if I didn't have all this sludgey stuff walloping about around my bones.
But then again... sometimes I just want a piece of cake. And I like it, and it likes me, and it's nice to have a treat. And if I was REALLY on the ball, I'd have it all sussed so that once or twice a week I could sit down to an entirely-above-board cup of tea and slice of cake. But I'm not on the ball, in fact I'm pretty hopeless, cos I'm a bit depressed and that makes me tired and vague and confused and inefficient, so I keep eating stuff I'm not supposed to, and then give myself a hard time about it, and then give myself a hard time for giving myself a hard time, and then I think OH FUCK IT how the hell can I be expected to diet as well as all the other stuff I'm trying to do, and anyway if I get pregnant won't I put a load of weight on, so what's the point?
So I change my mind and decide maybe I'm not dieting, because after all mummy-tummies are snuggly and nice and there's this great fashion at the moment for loose tops which balloon out over the waist area and hide all unwanted flesh, and I'm only a stone or so overweight and really worse things happen at sea...
...but then I decide I'm dieting again...
Pah.
___
On the one hand, I understand the connection between body and mind, and I want to be as healthy as possible in preparation for procreation, and I reckon I'd feel better if I didn't have all this sludgey stuff walloping about around my bones.
But then again... sometimes I just want a piece of cake. And I like it, and it likes me, and it's nice to have a treat. And if I was REALLY on the ball, I'd have it all sussed so that once or twice a week I could sit down to an entirely-above-board cup of tea and slice of cake. But I'm not on the ball, in fact I'm pretty hopeless, cos I'm a bit depressed and that makes me tired and vague and confused and inefficient, so I keep eating stuff I'm not supposed to, and then give myself a hard time about it, and then give myself a hard time for giving myself a hard time, and then I think OH FUCK IT how the hell can I be expected to diet as well as all the other stuff I'm trying to do, and anyway if I get pregnant won't I put a load of weight on, so what's the point?
So I change my mind and decide maybe I'm not dieting, because after all mummy-tummies are snuggly and nice and there's this great fashion at the moment for loose tops which balloon out over the waist area and hide all unwanted flesh, and I'm only a stone or so overweight and really worse things happen at sea...
...but then I decide I'm dieting again...
Pah.
___
Labels: Philosophisering
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