In the light of the morning, I realise I'm not depressed after all. No more than I thought I was previously, at least. It's just that I'm not used to being quite so tired anymore as I am at present, and I'd forgotten quite how bad it makes you feel. And so there was a binge. Yes, dear confessor, there was a binge. It was epic in it's vastness, and truly disgusting. But it's done, and it didn't help with the tiredness, because it never did. Thankfully, I'm old. And I've been here before. So. Rather than flounder in a desolate spiral for a few months before doing the sensible thing, I'm planning swimming into my revision timetable. Because swimming sharpens my mind, and makes me happier. If I recall correctly, it sharpens your body also, but aside from a fitness level that's irrelevant. And possibly from a fitting in my clothes better perspective. Okay, so it's not totally irrelevant.
So I'll be at the aquatic centre in Manchester bright and early tomorrow morning. And that makes me smile.
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