I am going to try and write a little bit every day. I’ve decided. I want to get more practice at writing things I enjoy, not solely corporate metallic pieces. So hello—here I go, doing a little daily diary.
Aside: I wonder if professional cow milkers keep journals. If they did they could call it a daily dairy diary.
Okay, now we arrive immediately at the first hurdle: how do people write diaries? Do they cover the day they’ve had, or the previous day? I can’t really remember much of yesterday. I thought I had COVID, for a short while, until a test I underwent in Streatham Common car park informed me I did not have coronavirus and had merely been smote with a run-of-the-mill head cold.
Nothing else of note happened. Or maybe it did and I’ve simply forgotten it.
I slept on a slant last night to try to help my nose. I achieved this by piling three sturdy pillows atop one another and balancing my head and most of my torso upon the mound. I thought it might help me cough less and sleep better, and it did, although I am unsure as to A) why it worked and B) why I thought it might work in the first place.
I had a job interview on the phone at 11am today, which turned out to be more of a cursory chat to check I’m not a moron. The interview proper is next week. I am not particularly nervous for it at this moment in time, but I know myself, and I know the confidence I feel now is meaningless and will melt away like wet candyfloss on the morning of the big Zoom chat.
Because I’ve been feeling poorly and rubbish, I’ve fannied around a lot today and not done much work. I am still fannying around, writing this. I fib to myself that World Hangover and my books are my true work, my real calling, and everything else is secondary. In a way I suppose they are, but in another, more important way, I need to earn money to live.
I’ve been to the big Tesco today. I spent £21 on a monstrous weekly shop, which weighed me down on the 1.5 mile walk home to the point where I had to go into an off license and buy an Aero for energy. There was a £1 minimum spend on card, which regretfully meant I also had to eat a packet of Haribo and a packet of fruit-flavoured Maoams.
I skipped lunch today as part of my new push to be less doughy around the middle. I was doing well last week, and emergent abdominal muscles were pulling the skin of my stomach taut. Alas, a weekend of takeaways and lager has dragged me back to my usual frumpy dad-bod. I am going to begin once again with my workout routine, although not tomorrow as I have band practice with Sam, and not tonight because I can’t be bothered.
For dinner I will eat a sweet potato with some cheese grated on it.
See you tomorrow. x