23 January 2012

Fasting and working

I fasted last Thursday: it was great again. I did exactly 24 hours. Will do it again on Thursday, I think, but then I am going to take a break from it, first, because my goal was to do it only four times, and second, now that I have control of my eating again, but started running, I will very quickly get back into my ideal weight range and need to be careful not to fall in the trap of losing too much like I did last year. 

Thursday was also the last day of the Autumn term at Middlesex. 12 classes down, 12 to go. Well, less than 12 actually: I have reading week and tutorials and presentations. Anyway, rounded the corner.

Friday, work was okay, but Yoko called around 4:30 to say that Naomi had a recurrence of her infection symptoms and it was too late to take her to the GP so she was going to the Urgent Care Centre. I met her that and we waited like two and half hours because although there were nurses, we were in between a doctor shift change. Doctor finally saw her and, yes, she needed more antibiotics, which they gave us.

Luckily, she was feeling better on Saturday (or better enough) for us to go to the Cotwolds for Yoko's birthday trip. The trip was okay, but very, very hard with the sick kids. I lost my temper more than I should have and made the whole thing darker than it needed to be. It's just. So. Hard. The kids, sick and whining and miserable and being in the car and... Ugh. You still don't know what you're doing in the autumn your thesis isn't writing itself while you're away do you really want to go back to Japan have you thought about — Shut up, self-critical me: we're trying to enjoy this goddamned idyllic pastoral British countryside!

We got home on Sunday night and the heating is not working properly, kids still sick, Naomi won't take her medicine, Mia not sleeping. Finally everyone got in bed and I could get to... my marking. Go to bed: wake to crying in an hour.

It is now Monday. I got up this morning, got to work, ran, marked, made progress on the tightening of the loose ends of my analytic procedure. It's looking good at this point, very, very good. I think I'm going to be able to say, come 8 February: I'm writing up. Boy, am I looking forward to that. Get this thing done and get the hell out of dodge.

Get the hell out of dodge? But to where? You know you don't get a new life when you finish your PhD, right? It's just a title. Really? I thought it was a whole new life? With a mansion?