The Clemenza Rationality

Soooo – still notsomuch with the exercise, and today, I made a conscious decision to have dessert.

d and I were Cardiff, and popped to Carluccio’s – a place with more than a passing degree of sentimental attachment for us both, and they happened to have some specials on – of which one was cannolis.

I have a…thing…for cannolis.

What’s more, the level of conscious decision involved was strangely rational and grovvy for your generally demented blogger. I knew that, given the exercise sparsity of the week, I’m going to be looking at an increase on Tuesday. I know that I had fish and chips this week, and I’m really fine with that – not craving, not mental, no reaction worth a blip on the radar. And when faced with the decision of whether to do a thing or not do a thing, today, I followed the legendary advice of Signore Clemenza. I left the entirely mythical gun, and took the entirely real cannoli.

And nice enough it was too. A little thick in its casing, maybe, but with a citric sharpness in the filling that was pleasing (to me at least – d wasn’t so keen).

And the thing is this: I still don’t care. Having eaten them, I’m not now craving every sweet thing on the planet. Neither am I freaking the hell out with a ridiculous need to bike my ass off and undo what I’ve done.  My pal Wendy was texting me at the time, and she advised me not to sweat it, because I’d get back on track next week.

“Yeah, I’m ahead of you hon,” I replied. “Not sweating this in the slightest. It’s been a different style of week. Next week, I’ll get it back. I know this to be true.”

And I do.  I have no idea why I do, or where this sudden state of rational grace is coming from, but it’s pretty cool, leaving me free to focus on all sorts of other things. Deadlines, mainly, at the moment. But for today, grazi, Signore Clemenza. Now – on to tomorrow.