These Mighty Things

I feel tired.  No revelation there, I realise, but late nights catching up on watching some films I missed out on at the cinema, due to no evenings off have left me unable to sleep at 2:30am even when I have to get up at 6.  Which is rather unfortunate.  I'm also tired of a number of other things:

1) Meet-ees cancelling and generally treating me as though they were just dropping round for an informal little chat and a cup of tea, instead of something I plan for and make reports in advance of.

2) Semi-friends doing the same lame-ass texting that they'll be an hour late to do something that interferes with my carefully put together timetable, like when I'm going to do aerobics, which is hard enough to stick to at the best of times, but is really on the verge of being jeopardised if delayed, when I'm so tired and hungry already.

3) Stupid sections of magazines telling me things I don't give a damn about, like how Geri Halliwell loses weight or how some actress with a personal trainer keeps in shape for her latest film (clue: she has a personal trainer force her to do stuff, because she has enough money to fritter away on buying her willpower and self-motivation). 

4) People assuming that the reason I failed to do the things I thought I was good at and had a future with was because I didn't work hard enough at it.  Yes, the business side of it was harder to work at, but I used to do four hours' piano practice a day when I first got my own piano.  But I made the mistake of thinking that hard work and talent are all you need to succeed.  Turns out a full social circle and hard cash are rather more helpful.

5) Being a cynical cow sometimes, when underneath, down below in some part of me that hasn't seen the light of day since 1996, I am a sprite-like optimist, feeling the freedom and wonder of walking back to my flat and knowing the city is mine, whenever I need to use it.  (I had a flashback today of the days when I used to know the carefree prospect of two week holidays when I could go out for meals in the evening and dress up and not have to worry about what everything was going to cost.  It was truly painful to come back from that little reverie.)

Anyway, my PLAN OF ACTION to eradicate this tiredness and ban these sad and lonely thoughts and try to leave room for more positive ones, however unfounded the hope they encapsulate may be, is to put on my silly little black shorts and my sports bra and pretend I'm 16 again and leap about and do leg stretches and high kicks and even, when I've warmed up enough, the splits.  All this while listening to desperately un-cool music at full volume (because my cheap stereo can't get up to anything unbearably loud anyway) for about an hour and reward myself afterwards by watching ER episodes, as I attempt to catch up on that final series everyone else has already seen.  That's my fitness regime in a nutshell.  Now all I have to do is wait for that semi-friend to get her arse over here and pick up what she has to and leave me in peace to achieve these mighty things.