Something Must Change

I have had enough.  And I am not talking about Brexit.

The Metropolitan line has become so bad that I’m getting home close to 8pm.  Today, I was on a tube stuck outside Harrow-On-The-Hill, awaiting a platform as both northbound platforms were occupied by other trains.  Neither of which apparently had a driver.  Fucking brilliant.

A good 15-20 minutes just stuck there, going nowhere, until the train finally moved, so I could then sit on the platform for a while and wait for my end destination train to arrive – which was stuck outside awaiting a platform.  Plus a bit of earlier slowness due to a signal failure.

At the moment, I am getting out of bed at 6:30am and getting home at 7:45pm, on average.

This is a long day.  I am tired.  I am drained.  I almost want to just say “fuck it” and quit my job.

Which would be stupid.  I actually really enjoy my job – the working part is great – I still pinch myself sometimes when I remember the shit I used to do for work.  I’m challenged every day, I am learning so much – I have great colleagues and an excellent manager.  I do get paid a relatively shit wage, and they do ask me to do things I hate like going to Luton – or go flyering – which is due to be timed for the next Beast From The East – like…fuck off.  But the work itself – it was my dream, and it is perfect.

I see what you are saying.  Why don’t I move house?

I currently live by myself.  I definitely will not get such a good deal elsewhere (Brexit?).  Is it worth the pain and the long days?  I’m not sure.

I actually had a look for rooms this morning, a bit closer to work – not hugely but enough to get me off the Metropolitan line, without using a sweatbox line either.  But all the half-decent rooms were at least £100 more than I pay now.  I need to reduce costs.  Not increase them.

Also playing into this is the ridiculous amount of weight that I’ve put on.  Almost every week I hit a new highest weight.  My belly has become ridiculous.  Sometimes people overtake me when I’m walking.  I almost waddle occasionally.  My ankles ache under the weight sometimes.  It isn’t far off 20kg that I’ve put on from just before I started this job.

Sometimes I look at fat people and imagine saying to them, “go on a fucking diet”.  Then I remember I’m fat.  Obese, actually.

It isn’t so easy though.  Last week I was refreshed after a week off, and managed to go 4 days of proper healthy eating.  I lost a little weight.  Then I drank on Friday night, ate too much food, and ended up consuming 5,000 calories (not an unusual amount for me when drinking).  Saturday I felt crap so needed comfort food.  Sunday too, though less.  Monday I went to Luton and we ate shit food for lunch – I got home late and just had junk food.  Tuesday I felt shit and ate loads.  And on…I should be able to reverse the pattern tomorrow – as I can relax and have a lay down if I feel tired – not having to shove something sugary down my throat just to give me some very temporary psychological benefit.

All being well, I will start next week being healthy – until something goes wrong.  I’m so mentally weak when it comes to controlling my eating at the moment.  The slightest thing – just waking up in the morning not having had enough sleep is enough to mean the whole of the rest of the week eating unhealthily.  One bad day and I cannot catch up with myself, as I’m working these long hours and getting home at silly times, and always being tired.

So I’ve had my moan.  I’ve set out what is wrong.  I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t have a plan to fix my problems.  I just haven’t quite decided on that plan yet.  And no it doesn’t fucking involve exercise – I DO NOT HAVE THE TIME OR ENERGY.

Right.

If I’m going to move house then I need more money.

There are only two ways of increasing my salary – a promotion or a new job.  I don’t want to do the latter.  But I’ve proven myself and there is still no promotion.  Maybe it will happen in the next few months.  Maybe it won’t.

Until I decide that, then there is no point in looking for somewhere else to live.  I could move house to somewhere more convenient for my current job, then still not get a promotion and get offered a job in west London – I’d then have another long commute.  As dumb and pointless as Brexit.  Actually nowhere near as dumb, but you get me.  Booyakasha.

I actually updated my CV last weekend.  Amazing what being told to go to Luton on a Monday, not long after learning of the upcoming flyering, can do.  I still don’t want to have to go ahead with it.  I’m nothing as a human being if I’m not loyal.  But maybe I should be more selfish.

It isn’t an easy decision to make.  But something has to change – such long days give less meaning to my existence.

Also in January my new detox starts.  90 days and 90 kg.

Which will be a minimum of 90 days without alcohol, but also reaching a minimum weight of 90kg.  I’m currently 103.5kg and this year I lost 6-7kg during my detox (put 13 back on) so extrapolating this could mean 6 months of no drinking.  Which as you can imagine, I don’t want.  The theory being that I subsequently put more effort in before my detox starts, so I’m not sat in a Spanish piazza in May drinking agua.

And if I put weight back on after my detox like I did this year, then I’m going to punish myself with vegan roast dinners.

Something has to change.  I have to change.  As much fun as I’ve had this year, as much as I really do enjoy my job – I cannot continue on this current path.

Therefore my main goal for next year, one that I hope to achieve in the first few months, is to gain back at least one hour a day of my life.

Time to take back control.

ps Apart from the above, it has been the best year for years.  I’m trying my hardest to be miserable right now, but failing.  I’m still happy.