The Dogged Slog

There's a point, when you're Disappearing, when you actually start to lose track of what day it is. You get into a routine of doing certain things. I'd deviated the last couple of mornings, by not walking, but was back to it this morning, and it's felt very much like business as usual - up to walk, breakfast of McDonalds porridge and a bottle of water. Starbucks for much pleasure-lite coffee. Home for dinner - in this case, one can tomato soup with chilli and three slices brown bread - yes, three, bit too much, probably, but meh. Now I have one more hour before I have to get on the bike for 45 minutes to an hour of Sudoking, then collect d from work, and bed. And that will have been Saturday - much, to be fair, like Friday. I'm not, by any stretch of the imagination, complaining about that, it's been a great productive day, and many things have been obliterated from the To Do List. All I'm saying is that if you're going to Disappear, being able to acclimatise (acclimate, Americans) yourself to a degree of routine which others might find innnnncredibly dull is probably, for some swathes of time, a good trait to have. Tomorrow is Sunday, and I'm not yet sure what I'm going to do. I wouldn't though lay very strong odds against doing something similar all over again - there's a vintage fair in Cardiff that d's interested in checking out (pain threshold permitting after two gruelling twelve-hour shifts back to back). So we'll see.

Err...I do appreciate that precisely the point of today's blog entry does make it less likely to be particularly riveting as a blog entry. Some days are diamonds, I guess - some are just miles walked, and biked, and not a whole lot eaten. One thing I should say is the Mirror from yesterday smashed and buggered off, so that's useful.

Anyhow - on with the work, then on to the bike.