Here comes a bit of a catharsis...some relevant realisations have occurred to me this June. Firstly, it’s been a year since I started renting a room in the current house I’m in. I admit I tend to grumble in my deserts. Permit me a small whinge, Lord...honestly, I never thought I’d still be here. Sure, look, there was no definite plan. But still here? Sigh.
On this insomnia-riddled evening (early hours of the morning is more applicable, actually), I’m afraid I’m thinking too much again. This happens when all I do is sleep and work. I no longer tend towards emotional eating. There’s no cash to do that, anyway. One of the drawings for the book I’m illustrating is a bathroom scale. I never stand on those things. I just assess how tight or loose my clothing is on me and I’m either fat or dropping some weight. Maybe it was months of weigh-less as a disturbed, fat teenager where I had to weigh in perpetually and the deal with them was that, if you’d gained even 0.2g over the past week then your name wasn’t called out in front of the group, followed by your loss announcement for that week, even if it was 0.1g. How desperate are women to shed every last fibre of potential weight when you’ll clamber to get to the toilets before weigh-in to eek off 5g of urine?
As I say, that’s why I probably don’t bother weighing myself. Tonight, however, the bathroom scale for reference was sitting quietly in the corner of my room chatting amiably with my shoes when I hit an impulse and whisked it away from its new friends (the bathroom is some way off from my bedroom, it gets lonely that end, I know) and stood on it. It wasn’t pretty. I don’t want to talk about it. My clothing has been fitting more loosely over the past couple of weeks and that’s been great. Until that ratty scale smirked up at me that I weigh 2kg more than my usual. No sense there, so moving along to other irksome preoccupations this week.
There must have been a private meeting at the beginning of this week where my clients gathered around the great poker table of life, lit up fat, smelly cigars, topped up exotically overpriced cocktails and threw in a couple of bowlfuls of super greasy deep fried crisps just to mark their territory. And plotted to torture me with 12 page contracts to sign over my artwork or they would not pay me. A late arrival would decide to reject 2 of the 6 canvasses I spent a week and weekend creating with another set of ideas I can’t possibly wrap my fragile little head around until mid next week, when I finish illustrating the book.
Then there is Dubai....the bay of plenty. We’ll see what prosperous little treasures this holds. Here’s where I have to pull on my business girl outfit and get it together with logistics and symantecs and costings and turnaround times....yawn. All for a cause that’s all for my finances but insomnia now bows to little quivering snores. Let’s call it a proverbial business day, shall we?
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