Friday on my mind
9:38 PM
“Honey, it’s 9:30,” my wife tells me, and I am awake. “I thought you’d rather have me tell you than hear the alarm,” she adds, by way of apology. I mumble in acknowledgment.
“Oh my God, I could hear you snoring down the hallway,” Mrs H says. “Did you hear yourself?”
“No.”
“Really?” She is incredulous.
“Obviously not.”
And so begins my last night at work, my Friday. It’s been a short week, just three nights, after I took the first two nights of my week off sick. But even though I had six hours sleep with the house quiet today, I still can’t shake this head cold, and I seem to be feeling worse by the day. My throat is burning. My eyes feel as though they have been poked. I suspect r.e.m. sleep is to blame; dreams – or more likely nightmares – unrecalled.
I am a little disturbed, unsettled, to say the least following my meeting with the hotel management documented in my video post last Wednesday. I am due to go into work tomorrow afternoon, even though it’s my first day off, because I already have to go into the City for my next meeting with the magician, and all parties want to finalise the way forward, whatever it may be. I’m not alone in my dislike for uncertainty.
the confidentiality agreement
At the end of my shift this morning, I was called to the GM’s office, where I learned both he and the hotel proprietor have recently become Words Are My Power readers. I suppose it was inevitable. And while my candour amazes the GM, who shakes his head in amazement, and they appreciate my intentions, there is some concern about confidentiality. I reassure them I have consciously never referenced the property itself, nor named guests, preferring to describe the experience of the area and the nights themselves. Authenticity and all that. Granted, certain posts, especially my topical Baz Luhrmann diatribe (described simply as “useless” by a YouTube viewer and possibly card carrying member of the Baz Luhrmann fan club) have arguably been a bit close for comfort.
Matt 101: day one
Last night Mrs H got me on the scales. Though she can’t help me with my career aspirations, she is determined to drive my recovery to better physical health. “Morbidly obese” was her phrase. I remember it clearly, as I watched the needle sway and flicker, then settle at the 101 kilogram mark. I’d say it was on the 100 side, but I’ll give in to her. Besides, “Matt 101” is a better post title, I’ll agree. She suggested – with some glee, it must be said – I’d have something to write about for my next post.
Being the aspiring personal trainer she is, Mrs H asked me my ideal weight.
“Seventy eight kilos,” I replied. I got down to that many years ago, when I was eating mostly fruit all day. Not the healthiest mental stage for me.
“I think 85 kilos is a good aim,” she tells me. “That’s it: I’m going to make you lose six kilos by Christmas. You can write about it on your blog.” She’s got the bit between her teeth now. She loves nothing better than being in control. I don’t have to tell you how this makes me respond. But I can’t argue I’d love to get into a healthier place, physically.
I’d love to be able to tie my shoelaces again without difficulty; to fit into my trousers more comfortably – even to actually update my wardrobe without fear – I mean, once I have the cash to do so. And just between you and me, we’re fast coming to the end of the year... don’t you think I’m already envisaging those new year’s resolutions, picturing the whole new me, healthy in mind and body? You know I am.
Anyway, day one’s plans of a brisk jog before work were undermined by my ongoing need to rest and attempt recovery from my present condition. Not to mention the impact of the three lines of Cadbury Dairy Milk ingested in the afternoon, after I withdrew it from the hiding place in the back of the pantry my betrothed had bestowed upon it. I was feeling blue, and I needed a fix.
zoo school
I picked up the girls from day care today; The Littlest One welcomed me with a kiss through the fence, while her sister threw a kick in my direction when I entered the playground, and told me she wanted to see Mommy. All went well once we were en route home, however, with Little Miss H holding hands all the way back, while her sister plundered ahead, fell flat on her hands, got up and carried on like the barrelling ball of energy she is.
After successfully feeding the girls Mum’s macaroni cheese (cooked in a muffin tray to be more attractive for its intended audience, and therefore more easily consumed – thanks to Jessica Seinfeld for the tip about food presentation for kids), I proposed an after-dinner activity of drawing, with a leaflet from the zoos, which I picked up at the hotel reception last night. After I was able to produce a reasonable facsimile of My Little Pony by copying a sticker last time we drew together, I wanted to show Little Miss H how she could draw a tiger, and an elephant, and a rhino. (She already knew how to draw a giraffe, she told me).
I was on a winning streak. I even managed to read one of my favourite childhood books, The Adventures of Captain William Walrus, to Little Miss H at bedtime. She likes it best if we lie down and I hold the book above us at the end of my outstretched arms. Not the easiest position to maintain, I’m sure you will appreciate. But if it means I get to be active in her bedtime, I’m up for it. Whatever it takes.
Whatever it takes.
Here’s to the hope of better days tomorrow.
Yours candidly always,
MH
9:38 PM
“Honey, it’s 9:30,” my wife tells me, and I am awake. “I thought you’d rather have me tell you than hear the alarm,” she adds, by way of apology. I mumble in acknowledgment.
“Oh my God, I could hear you snoring down the hallway,” Mrs H says. “Did you hear yourself?”
“No.”
“Really?” She is incredulous.
“Obviously not.”
And so begins my last night at work, my Friday. It’s been a short week, just three nights, after I took the first two nights of my week off sick. But even though I had six hours sleep with the house quiet today, I still can’t shake this head cold, and I seem to be feeling worse by the day. My throat is burning. My eyes feel as though they have been poked. I suspect r.e.m. sleep is to blame; dreams – or more likely nightmares – unrecalled.
I am a little disturbed, unsettled, to say the least following my meeting with the hotel management documented in my video post last Wednesday. I am due to go into work tomorrow afternoon, even though it’s my first day off, because I already have to go into the City for my next meeting with the magician, and all parties want to finalise the way forward, whatever it may be. I’m not alone in my dislike for uncertainty.
the confidentiality agreement
At the end of my shift this morning, I was called to the GM’s office, where I learned both he and the hotel proprietor have recently become Words Are My Power readers. I suppose it was inevitable. And while my candour amazes the GM, who shakes his head in amazement, and they appreciate my intentions, there is some concern about confidentiality. I reassure them I have consciously never referenced the property itself, nor named guests, preferring to describe the experience of the area and the nights themselves. Authenticity and all that. Granted, certain posts, especially my topical Baz Luhrmann diatribe (described simply as “useless” by a YouTube viewer and possibly card carrying member of the Baz Luhrmann fan club) have arguably been a bit close for comfort.
Matt 101: day one
Last night Mrs H got me on the scales. Though she can’t help me with my career aspirations, she is determined to drive my recovery to better physical health. “Morbidly obese” was her phrase. I remember it clearly, as I watched the needle sway and flicker, then settle at the 101 kilogram mark. I’d say it was on the 100 side, but I’ll give in to her. Besides, “Matt 101” is a better post title, I’ll agree. She suggested – with some glee, it must be said – I’d have something to write about for my next post.
Being the aspiring personal trainer she is, Mrs H asked me my ideal weight.
“Seventy eight kilos,” I replied. I got down to that many years ago, when I was eating mostly fruit all day. Not the healthiest mental stage for me.
“I think 85 kilos is a good aim,” she tells me. “That’s it: I’m going to make you lose six kilos by Christmas. You can write about it on your blog.” She’s got the bit between her teeth now. She loves nothing better than being in control. I don’t have to tell you how this makes me respond. But I can’t argue I’d love to get into a healthier place, physically.
I’d love to be able to tie my shoelaces again without difficulty; to fit into my trousers more comfortably – even to actually update my wardrobe without fear – I mean, once I have the cash to do so. And just between you and me, we’re fast coming to the end of the year... don’t you think I’m already envisaging those new year’s resolutions, picturing the whole new me, healthy in mind and body? You know I am.
Anyway, day one’s plans of a brisk jog before work were undermined by my ongoing need to rest and attempt recovery from my present condition. Not to mention the impact of the three lines of Cadbury Dairy Milk ingested in the afternoon, after I withdrew it from the hiding place in the back of the pantry my betrothed had bestowed upon it. I was feeling blue, and I needed a fix.
zoo school
I picked up the girls from day care today; The Littlest One welcomed me with a kiss through the fence, while her sister threw a kick in my direction when I entered the playground, and told me she wanted to see Mommy. All went well once we were en route home, however, with Little Miss H holding hands all the way back, while her sister plundered ahead, fell flat on her hands, got up and carried on like the barrelling ball of energy she is.
After successfully feeding the girls Mum’s macaroni cheese (cooked in a muffin tray to be more attractive for its intended audience, and therefore more easily consumed – thanks to Jessica Seinfeld for the tip about food presentation for kids), I proposed an after-dinner activity of drawing, with a leaflet from the zoos, which I picked up at the hotel reception last night. After I was able to produce a reasonable facsimile of My Little Pony by copying a sticker last time we drew together, I wanted to show Little Miss H how she could draw a tiger, and an elephant, and a rhino. (She already knew how to draw a giraffe, she told me).
I was on a winning streak. I even managed to read one of my favourite childhood books, The Adventures of Captain William Walrus, to Little Miss H at bedtime. She likes it best if we lie down and I hold the book above us at the end of my outstretched arms. Not the easiest position to maintain, I’m sure you will appreciate. But if it means I get to be active in her bedtime, I’m up for it. Whatever it takes.
Whatever it takes.
Here’s to the hope of better days tomorrow.
Yours candidly always,
MH
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