So I’ve only cheated on my diet twice in my first week. I call that a success. Watch out dating site…. I’m nearly ready….. just no assholes this time round please. No prospect bikers with patches who fall off their motorbikes, no married men in a mid-life crisis, no bullshitters, sorry, I mean salesmen, no salesmen please, no greek gigolo’s, no young playa’s, no steroid-pumping weight trainers and please no sweet-natured Afrikaans speaking farmers. Ek praat nie die taal nie. (I don’t speak the language)
Now as per a request by a fellow blogger for more upbeat posts with less doom and gloom, here is my effort:
If I did decide to kill myself I would happily do it by drowning. I always have been a water baby, or should I say, babe, so it seems appropriate. A diver once told me that was the most peaceful and upbeat way to die. Not gloomy at all. Since I’ve been wanting to go diving without a scub tank, I did the responsible thing and rang my Dr S. My shrinky-dink. We cheerily chatted about my little predicament, agreed I had some optomistic options and then together we laughed and laughed and laughed about the medical aid coverage. The outcome is hopeful. Despite this being the second critical depression in a one year period, things look rosy because I have a positive attitude. And there’s always the chance I’ll snap out of it because my medication dosage is high. So I’m pumped. I’m amped. Next week I could get to have a sedated slumber party in the psych ward of the local hospital. I’m so excited, I am just tickled to death.