Distracted

All day I have sat at the comp and thought, right! Write! And then got up to do something else. And what is bloody typical, is that I sort of fancy cracking on with it now, but J is home soon and I want to spend time with him instead. Rats.

Also I feel a bit, sort of, pants – got a cranky old digestion at the best of times but recently it seems to have upped its game. Apparently I have too much sugar in my blood, and a possible low thyroid thing going on… I have a diet sheet to follow that is the sort of thing given to people that shop in Waitrose. Or at organic farms. One thing for sure is that finding bloody Scottish Oats proved impossible in Asda (or any oats apart from Oats So Simple – which isn’t that great. I need the sort of oats that slap you around the head while drinking Irn Bru, apparently). And rye bread was out the window.

But I am sick of feeling well, a bit sick. Not even sick enough to warrant sympathy. Just off colour, peaky, under-the-weather – that sort of thing. Bah. I’m trying to give up caffeine in the hope that I will feel better – so far it appears to be working, except herbal teas are so boring, and make me want to stick my head in the sugar bag.

I am also a little bit concerned with how much I take solphadine… before you get alarmed, it is only one a day, possibly two. But that is tons, really, in the grand scheme of things, and I want to cut it out, but at some point each day I will feel like pants enough to think it warrants one. I know it’s addictive, and part of me wonders if it is contributing to the feeling pants thing, sort of exacerbating the problem. I’ve been keeping an eye on it, and I’ve noticed that definitely over the last two years I have increased from perhaps 3 a week, to 1 a day. Rats, again. When I finish this novel I will do a week without and see how I feel. It really is a silly thing to create problems for yourself when there is really nothing wrong, so hopefully I can kick that habit sometime soon.