The Beast Must Die*

4.15pm and already it’s almost dark outside.  Am writing this on my bike at the gym.  Didn’t make it here this morning, due to an unusually late night last night with my writing chums.  So am here now, despite epic levels of can’t-be-bothered.  Know that will be pleased with self, even if just write this blog on the bike.

People don’t realise, I think as I pedal, how much I have to force myself to complete even the skeleton of tasks that I’ve reduced my activities to at the moment.  Am patting myself on the back, anyway, that made it to my history course earlier and am at gym now.  And cooked The Omelette for lunch and will cook something else for supper.  

Not going to put a wash on or have a bath, that would be excessive.  Am going to collapse in front of the tennis that am recording.  It’s on here at the gym but am ignoring it, until arrive home.  Wish Seb was coming to see me and we could snuggle up in the nest together.  Miss my boyfriend in this dark, rainy weather.  Miss my boyfriend all the time when he’s not here.

The panther lies on the floor in front of my bike.  He’s still here, despite the fact that he’s due to leave about now.

“Don’t forget to tell them that you’re fat and that your skin looks terrible,” he says, staring at me with huge amber eyes.

“You’re not thin either,” I say.  “Go to sleep or something.”  Have had enough of him and his unhelpful comments.

He stalks over to the window and sits in front of it, watching the cars and buses go past outside.

The attached photo is a coffee that the barista made for me at my course earlier.  It would look even better against a different coloured background, but never mind.

Right, had better lift some weights. Put my leg press up to 150kg yesterday, so that’s one good thing.

Happy Thursday everyone!
*1938.  By Cecil Day Lewis (writing as Nicholas Blake).  A crime writer plots the perfect murder…

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