I planned to post a few photos tonight - I finally got the pics of the Big Day Out and the Makeover Expo developed and took them to a printing place to get them scanned, but the guy scanned them all together and the file is too big to open in the graphics program on my dodgy old computer! If I take them over to Andrew's when I go to pick up my Veronica Mars fix, I'll use his computer.

I've been feeling mighty down today. I think it's because I've had so much on every weekend for the past month or so and suddenly I have this whole four days stretched in front of me with nothing planned. Everything seems flat and empty. And cold and friendless and blah. I guess I'm just in a sulky poor-me mood.

I've been awfully tired too. I find my Tuesday night class knocks me around a lot - I don't finish until 9.00 then I have to get home and it takes me a long time to settle. So on Wednesday I just want to come straight home from work but I make myself go to the gym and so on for the rest of the week. Being tired and in a sulky mood at the same time is the worst. I'm all shitty because I'm bored and have no plans but I don't have the energy to do anything anyway.

I went to the gym, planning to do spin class but I just wanted to run so did that instead. I definitely didn't have the energy or inclination to face a perky instructor yelling inspiring shit from the front of the room. At least on the treadmill, I'm in my own little ipod coccoon.

After that, I thought of going somewhere to eat. The city was filled with couples and groups all brimming with first-day-of-a-long-weekend excitement off to do fun things. Sometimes it seems like everyone leads a more interesting life than me. I ended up buying some rice paper rolls to eat on the tram and came home and read my book instead.

I start reading my book, The Perfect 10 by Louise Kean, and this is the beginning of the first chapter:

Here's what they don't tell you when lose seven stones in weight.

They don't mention the loose skin. They forget to tell you that you'll end up with a rice paper-grey stomach that wrinkles and crumples beneath pinched fingers like tissue paper. They don't divulge that on the upper inside of freshly toned thighs two flabby folds of stretched skin will stand guard over your pelvis, like a pair of spitefully unskinned chicken breasts, with a Stalinist determination not to budge. They don't let on about the pubic pouch that they guard so angrily, that refuses to deflate in line with the rest of you, lending your naked profile a hermaphrodite edge...

That made me scream -- I don't need to know that stuff, I don't need to think about it. And I hate it when someone writes really well about something I could have written. The story is about a woman who loses a lot of weight but her life isn't as perfect as she thought it would be. it really does hit a bit close to home at the moment.