Closer than I’ve ever been to the double figures I’ve been chasing, but somehow not feeling the exhilaration I’d anticipated. I don’t even feel hunger anymore - can’t imagine what that says about my metabolism; it must be shot to pieces - but something is still making me restless. Maybe it was foolish to imagine that by controlling this I would feel some element of control over the rest of life. Then again, to what extent really do any of us control what goes on around and within us? I feel like King Canute trying to stop the tide coming in (negative on the endlessly flattering courtiers I’m afraid!); trying my hardest and coming up with nothing but wet feet to show for it.
The anaesthetist told me he was going to put me into the deepest, most restful sleep I was ever likely to experience - he didn’t mention it would also likely be the last. I’m so tired, I can’t concentrate at work, things with BF are hard, I don’t understand what he wants from me.
Trying to remember that it’s just a bad patch; nothing lasts forever and who knows what tomorrow holds? Maybe something amazing :)
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