I finished Draft Three of my novel this
week. Weighed in on Tuesday at 18st 0.75, which wasn’t too bad, but I’m going
to be absolutely honest with you here – since then, I’ve had a few days of
notsomuch going off the rails as ripping up the rails and juggling the damn
things. I find myself on Sunday, having been out for a celebratory lunch with
d, feeling absolutely horrid and huge, bloated to the point where you could
squeeze me like a giant, overripe zit. This clearly needs to stop, and I also
need to stop taking celebrations as excuses to drive my bodily car into a rock
face at 125 miles per freakin’ hour. Enough. As luck would have it, tomorrow’s
a Monday, the day for starting ill-thought-out endeavours like weeks and
suchlike other mistakes. Tomorrow then, we knuckle down and reinstall some
discipline into the daily routine.
