Monday, August 06, 2012
Thank goodness I had something to glue myself to all weekend. The box.
The tears, the glory - I don't think I have ever been more into the Olympics, ever.
Or wanted to be a sprinter, or athlete of some kind, ever.
Seriously. After seeing Usain Bolt (INSANE Bolt?) jog - canter - through the finish line, I was inspired to start making whey shakes, carrying some muscle tissue and wearing spandex.
I want to be the fastest bitch on the planet.
I am inspired to turn this shit AROUND. Turn myself into a brick shit house. Be the next Flo Jo. Without the heart attack.
I'll bet gym memberships and buyers of the Ab Swing 3000 have gone through the roof since the Olympics. And yet, I sit watching, while eating a tub of praline-flavoured Haagen Dazs thinking, "I'll never be as fast as Jessica Ennis anyway. I wasn't in my prime, so why would I be now?"
Speaking of Ennis, Team GB literally went beserk. Three golds in a space on an hour, I was crying (hormones, the pill, just me) and punching the air and jumping everwhere when they won.
Given GB and South Africa are my teams, the glory is amplified and the chances of gold are doubled now that my loyalties lie with TWO countries. It's really rather nice - I get to root for contestants all over the shop.
Watched the 100m final with a blueberry mask on, and when Bolt crossed the line, I screamed and half the thing cracked and fell off my face.
Still no drinking or smoking, just plenty crying. I'm riding it out. I'm hoping to wake up one morning and think, "Hang on...I feel great! I don't feel so alone and isolated and useless and burnt out anymore! it's like..I'm a normal human being."
Right now, I am a Goth. That wears a mixture of other colours, not just black.
I wonder how long it will take for the pill to adapt to my...vibe? Until then - I have Olympics. Thus far, London has put on a jolly good show, frankly.