This weekend has been rotten. Just absolutely rotten and disappointing and dismal. And that's disregarding the fact that I'm quite possibly suffering from PMS.
It's just that I began this weekend thinking that I would accomplish a great deal of things and get lots and lots of study done. And so in relation to that idea, I wrote up a nice long list of the things I wanted done by, oh, say- now.
And 89% of those things are, in fact, not done. Not even close to being done. Who am I kidding, they're completely untouched.
Not only did I fail to accomplish the vast majority of tasks on my to-do list, but I also managed to um, not study at all.
Okay that's a lie, I studied, but boy was it difficult. This weekend was just an 'off' one. You know those days where you tell yourself 'Yes, today I will do this, and then I'll make a start on that, and in between, I'll go there and do this and when I get back, I'll finish that other thing' and it's all well and good, until your brain says 'No. No, you will do nothing of the sort.'
And that's that. Despite your efforts, you manage to do nothing or at least if you begin, nothing gets finished.
Over the entire weekend, I did a measly five chapter summary questions for business management, and wrote a pathetic two essays for practice for my English exam. Two essays that only made me angry and fed up with life in general. Two essays that made me want to cry, and one of which did make me cry, as well as crack the shits with my dear, beloved boy who did nothing at all wrong, but sadly caught the brunt of my anger and frustration. I love him all the more for the simple fact that he puts up with me and my madness. He's lovely.
And then today I set out for the State Library to meet my wonderful friend and fellow blogger, Meleonie. I love our study-dates, and I love our chats even more. Meleonie is one of those rare, beautiful souls that the world needs more of. She has the ability to change my mood as well as my outlook on life, and I always walk away from her feeling encouraged and inspired. She is a beautiful, beautiful person, to say the very least.
However, our study session was not as successful as I had hoped. Coffee and lunch sounded far more enticing, and so after devoting only an hour or so to actual studying, it seemed that not a lot got done. But I left feeling happy and positive, and with my new issue of Frankie (which increased my endorphin levels by a good 96%), it seemed nothing could bring me down.
However, as per usual, I was wrong because within an hour or so, I felt like death. I had a head ache and a stomach ache and I was dizzy and felt nauseous. I put it down to exhaustion, plain and simple.
Later, mum and I went to the grocery store and I bought myself groceries for school for the next week. Walking through the aisles like an angry, sad and fatigued corpse, I decided I needed a reward. A chocolatey reward. Lo and behold, just to my delight, the entire chocolate bar shelf was on sale.
And so I grabbed not one, but two, and then tried to bury my prevailing sense of guilt by buying diet cereal and an antioxidant fruit and nut mix.
None of those latter purchases meant anything, however, because as soon as I got into the car, one of my chocolate bars had vanished in about three large, eager, monstrous bites.
Then when I got home, I managed to scoff a handful of Portugese baked chicken, a little bit of potato salad, as well as some little oven-baked potato balls. Then I ate half a Crocodile Bun (a Sri-Lankan sweet pastry that I haven't had in five years) and the second chocolate bar.
Now I can't be sure, but I think I literally felt the fat growing onto my thighs. But boy was I happier.
Later when I was changing into my pyjama's, I looked at my half naked self in the mirror and thought 'My God, you're getting fat.' I looked at my thighs and my stomach and my not-so-lovable love-handles and saw the word 'Cadbury' written all over them. And then I thought about how happy that chocolate made me, and realised it was worth it. It took my mind off my studies and my crapbag of a day, and it seemed to melt my worries as it melted in my mouth. That's a wonderous thing.
I will never be entirely happy with my body. Additionally, I don't think the struggle for perfection is worth it. No, I'm not one of those girls who will profess to 'loving their curves and flaws' because let's be honest- no one loves their flaws. But I have stopped caring. I think it's a silly thing to waste time on, and if chocolate makes me happy, I will damn well eat it. At least when I'm fat, I will be happy too.
And when the day comes where my boyfriend tentatively tells me 'You know, I do love you, but you're getting kind of fat..' I will agree with him. And offer him a chocolate bar.
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