Regeneration

This morning, waking up in my own bed in the parental home, everything seems much better. There is an orange fluffy cheek rubbing against mine – my kitten has come to wake me up.
“Good morning furry monster,” I say, stroking his soft head.
“Meow,” he says, arching his back, his tail a question mark above him.
Hauling myself out of bed, I make my way to the kitchen. He stalks after me.

“I put one of those white inserts in my sports bra,” I say to Mum. “Does it look OK?”
Mum looks up from The Times crossword. “That looks fine, sweetie,” she says. “Don’t do anything dangerous at the gym,” she says.
“I’m just going to sit on the bike and do some leg things, don’t worry,” I say.

At the gym, I do seven minutes on the bike, seven minutes on the step machine, leg press, abductor, adductor, calf raises. After some lunges and a few squats with the Bulgarian bag it’s time to repair to the floor. Reverse curls and other reverse abdominal crunches completed, that’s pretty much everything that doesn’t involve my upper body. Seven more minutes on the bike, and that’s it. Gym session achieved.

For the moment, I’m without a phone. So, no Tinder, What’s App or text messages. No way of knowing whether the Captain has been trying to get in touch. Or anyone else, in fact. Hopefully new phone is on its way and then at least the preliminary stages of dating can be resumed. At least I’ll be able to exchange messages with my matches and make new matches, even if I’m pretty much housebound at the moment…

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