Four down, ninety six to go..

A very, busy, tiring week. Only lost half a pound this week, but at least it's going the right way.It would be nice to get down to that first half stone by mid February, when I go to meet the folks...

Progress!

Amidst the the mire and murk of Wednesday evening, I had a successful SW meeting. Three and a half pounds gone, ninety six and a half to go! I know it won't alway be as easy as this, but I'm getting into the swing of setting up my porridge the night before, and having something sensible available in the evening. Lunchtimes a bit trickier, as the staffroom microwave has turned up its heels. I'm glad that the canteen is a good one, as they usually have some good options.
Anyway, it's time to wake up Mr C and get on the daily trudge. Ar least there's almost no snow outside...

The bottom line...

I braved the snow and the ice last night to SW last night. There had been a sudden flurry around lunchtime, leaving an inch of snow over the ice. There weren't many people there, but we did have six new faces.
I wasn't looking forward to jumping on the scales, but when I did, I was 20st 9 in my clothes , which I expected, really. I'd like to lose 2lbs this week, which is possible, if I really start thinking about what I'm eating.

Not looking forward to venturing out today - the main roads have been gritted, but it's a skating rink out the back where the car is. We haven't had enough snow at school, but it doesn't look promising. It's times like this when I didn't have the commute I do, particularly when the trains start playing up.

Last day of freedom...

Like most people in the UK, tomorrow brings the first, agonising workday of the New Year. I'm in a better frame of mind than I was a couple of days ago, but I can't say I'm truly thrilled. But work pays the bills, and the longer I can bear it, the better. It doesn't stop me playing the lottery on a regular basis, however. I know I don't really stand a snowball's chance of winning, but I don't care.

So here I am, in a wonderful library, which has become my second home, now that Borders has bitten the dust. I've been browsing my new library book, and have just discovered a great new author called Jacqueline Winspear. She is a crime writer very much in the style of Dorothy L Sayers, and I came across her completely by accident in Poundland. It seems that she has written several books which revolve around a young woman called Maisie Dobbs.Now that I've devoured (excuse the pun) all of the Sookie Stackhouse books i can currently find, it's time for a new obsession I think.

Back home, there should be a chicken which is nicely mooching away in the oven (providing Mr C has remembered to turn the heat down as requested. Better get back to it, I suppose.

Three o'clock, and all is quiet...

My sleeping pattern is a bit bizarre at times, especially when my brain is going at three hundred miles an hour. I woke up at 1.20, discovering that Mr C was asleep in the end room. (nothing strange there- at various points of my irregular cycle, himself has commented that it's like sleeping next to a volcano.) FOF was with him- she prefers to sleep on him, as he doesn't wriggle half as much as I do.
I got myself a drink, read 700 Sundays by Billy Crystal,which is a thoughtful, affectionate memoir, but the brain wouldn't switch off. So now I'm sat up under the duvet, cloaked by suburban East Anglian suburban silence, half listening to Wolf Hall on my headphones. It's soothing and has enough depth to keep me engaged.

Just as well, really. I have gone through several periods of insomnia in the last few years, generally when I've got more in my head than I can deal with. Most of the time I'm fretting over nothing, but there is nothing like the silence of the middle night to make me feel like the last person awake.

Why am I awake? I've had a fortnight away from school, and while the break was much needed, I always find it hard to get back into the rhythm of work. I think it's going to get even harder, as I'm starting to question whether I'm in the right place at all. I've been there for six years now, but the atmosphere has changed. New boss, after somewhat of a political coup to move the previous one sideways. New boss is the same age as me, on the whole a reasonable human being and an excellent professional, but I don't feel comfortable any more. I'd love to find a job closer to home, but I'm expensive, and I don't have the emotional energy to go through the endless application forms, only to be brushed off with barely an acknowledgment. I've had more than my share of tussles to deal with in the last few years, and I'm running out of energy and enthusiasm for it all. It's not all bad, but the worst of it makes me want to scream sometimes.

Mr C has his own work issues. His company was swallowed up by yet another multinational, and most of the joy of his work has gone, too. What's holding us together is the glimmer of financial independence in eighteen months time or so. We bring home good money (compared to a lot of people), I have a secure job (for as long as I can bear it) and we have good friends. We're dreaming of selling up, moving closer to both sets of recycled teenagers, and living a quieter, calmer life. It will be worth it if we can do it.

I know it's wrong to wish your life away, but I'm impatient to move on. We have the plans - money is the only thing that is holding us back. So we keep plodding on, squirrelling funds away and living frugally.Mr C haunts RightMove.com , and we've both got a mental map of where we' d like to end up. This is what keep us going.

In the meantime, it's nearly four o'clock in the morning. The house is settling around us, with its usual creaks. There is a discernible frost on top of the cars outside. I've got a lot to do tomorrow, so hopefully I'll drift off to sleep again soon, dreaming of an older house in a seaside resort with amazing views of distant hills...