Withdrawal Symptoms

Blood this morning was 4.8, which was promising.
Walked up to Plaistow Station this morning, and did some up-and-down-the-stairsiness during the return of a bunch of stuff from a show at which we were exhibiting. Fortunately, not wincing in pain, so the toe is clearly behaving itself a heck of a lot more than it has been.

Which...and yes, I know I was talking about baby-stepping towards normality, but whaddaya want from me, it's Monday night...which makes me long to do a thing.

So far in this experiment, I've had withdrawal symptoms of so many things - sugar, chocolate, enormous pans of lasagne, whole packets of pasta, the rich slick dark gorgeous bubbles of Coke, the habit of fullness, the habit of generosity of spirit, the habit of...hell everything but intra-veinous drug use, smoking and alcoholism...

Right now, I'm looking across our living room at my traditional Monday-night saviour, the home of hope, and yes, pain, and bitching, and I'm getting bike-wthdrawl.

It's been so long now since the bike was a daily part of my routine. Feels like forever, or a whole revolution ago. As I write this, it's gone nine at night - doing an hour of biking will make it past ten, plus the need to shower. Makes me wonder whether it's genuine withdrawal, or simply Monday-night panic.

Probably both, if I'm honest, but dammit, I want to get back on that evil sneering bastard and peddle my ass off...

So forgive me for the brevity. Sometimes, you actually have to do something in order to have something to write about, and feel right with yourself. This is me, about to do something that may be stupid. I daresay you'll hear the whinging that results tomorrow.