I am on a health kick. A serious health kick. I haven't had pasta for a month. A MONTH! For those of you who don't know me, the only thing I eat more than pasta is twinings earl grey tea, which, should I decide to stop consuming that as well as pasta, would be under the control of administrators and making serious-faced announcement in news conferences about closing factories worldwide within a week.
I am on a health kick because I used to:
1. Ride my bike everywhere.
2. Walk everywhere else.
3. Go to gym at least four nights a week.
4. Throw a frisbee at least once a week right through summer.
5. Play mixed soccer with my hilarious friends every Sunday.
6. Be vegetarian and therefore eat very well due to the constant (sometimes infuriated) concern of others that I might die of scurvy/iron deficiency/B12 poisoning/grout or similar. Use of pasta in vegetarian diet = necessary for survival.
Given the insanity of the above routine, I slowed down somewhat at some point. I now:
1. Walk everywhere and once read somewhere that it's great exercise ergo it justifies the consumption of vast quantities of pasta and Cascade Green beer (it's sustainable! it's organic! it probabaly cures cancer!).
2. Have Foxtel.
3. Donate to my local gym so that other people can enjoy it in luxurious privacy.
4. Have become so particular about how I throw a frisbee that I don't like playing with people who aren't my Dad or my sister, both of whom have, you know, lives.
5. Think back on the soccer playing days with longing, even though I am no longer speaking to half the players on the team (there is no i in team, but watch out for freaks, is all I'm saying). The other half? The good half? Well, turns out, they have, you know, lives (in Paris, mostly, I'm looking at YOU MELANIE HOWLETT).
6. Am no longer vegetarian. This is not something I am proud of. Also, it is not something I monitored very well. Thus on top of my well-considered vegetarian diet I added meat. So basically I went: meat goes well with pasta. How delightful!
Anyway. So. The health kick begins.
On Monday, Stew and I went to what is known, disturbingly, as a "pump class", wherein we were both rendered incapable of movement except in short increments similar in appearance to slow motion replays of the Olympic Walking events. This physical disability was a condition, cruelly, only curable by doing more exercise. We are, therefore, on an exercise bender, fending off the inevitable crippled exhaustion of an unfitness hangover, which should probably kick in some time during the weekend. At which point I plan to have a Cascade Green beer. No, they do not sponsor this website, although they should feel welcome to.
So what does this have to do with writing? And Standing There Productions? Well, everything actually, since you can't write without a clear head. You can't write if you're distracted or you broke up with someone or you've got a hangover or your foot hurts. You have to be clear and sharp. Which is why I'm doing the health kick in the first place.
It was a great idea. And I do feel kind of zingy. Trouble is, I keep dropping off to sleep. And I can't move. Healthy body, healthy mind might be a maxim backed up by science, but what they forgot to tell me is: health kick to the body = roundhouse kick to the head. A roundhouse kick is a gym term, by the way, like "clean and jerk", which I personally think should be used in other contexts (see earlier discussion of soccer team).
I sit in the State Library, I feel the muscles that did not know they existed before this morning's swim, and I hope the healthy body comes soon because the healthy mind is kind of missing the lazy and relaxed peace of knowing it remains superior.
Speaking of which, it's going to this tonight at the State Library. Poetry me up, world!