under the blanket

In an attempt to lose my winter blubber, I over-ambitiously cut back on meat last week. Well, I am happy to report that in seven days, the only meat I have eaten is a small packet of smoked salmon, 10 mini sausages of unknown meat origin and half a tin of tuna. Not bad, considering what a carnivore I am. And for the first time in my life, I am actually eating the required five portions of fruit and veggie daily. I feel overly healthy actually. No sign of my fat cheeks deflating though.

After reading what I just wrote, I remembered all the reasons for not starting this web blog in the first place -- I don't want to turn into a self-absorbed navel-gazer who thinks the whole world is interested in what I ingest daily. Next, I'd prolly degenerate to describing the colour of my poo [although I do know some of you would be rather intrigued by all matters relating to poo].

So, back to what I was rambling on about before I started talking crap -- I am still undecided whether this baring of my soul is a good idea. I mean, there might be retribution in store for me, for mocking a certain shameless 18-year-old hussy's online musings in the past. You would think that after three years of writing for a newspaper, I would be comfortable with people reading my words, but no. This really feels weird, like I'm publishing my diary or something. [Wait. I am indeed publishing my diary. Except I'm leaving out the bits where I whine: "WHY ME????? WHY WHY WHY???]

But on the other hand, there is something unexpectedly therapeutic about this stream of consciousness writing. And hey, I'm hoping in some way, this will be a way of letting all those who care know that I'm still alive and leading a perfectly ordinary life. And perhaps, this might do a better job of staying in touch than my sporadic emails and constant complaints about the weather.

So, gimme a shout out if you think I should continue with this inane monologue. Or just tell me to shut up.