Keep On Running

It’s time.

Lizzie Rebooted fans – both of you – will note that it’s been almost a year since my last entry. In that time so much life has been lived, with more ups and downs than a roller coaster seminar. I’ve tried thrice to update you, but thanks to plummeting moods, confidence troughs, and having other things to do, Fabulous, Baby is where you were left.

The truth is that things did get worse. Then better, then a little worse, then worse than the worse time, then slightly better, but not as good as the better time etc. This meandering path has led me to here. As the reborn cyclist that I am (as of last week), I might be wobbling around in the dark, bouncing off potholes, but I’m slowly moving in the right direction. (My arse hurts too, but I don’t think I can work that in to the metaphor. It’s probably best I keep that to myself.)

I have learned a lot in those ten-and-a-half months since I last wrote at you. I’ve taken up some surprising new hobbies, forged new friendships, (ditched a few that weren’t working out…) and made some startlingly bold decisions, all to keep me going. I’m packing my days with Things I Want to Do which help me to become the Person I Want to Be. I’m thrilled to report that I’m more like her every day. I’m not going into vagaries here. No doubt you will have it forced upon your eyeballs in future entries.

Here are five fecund fragments to tantalise you into reading on:

1)      My dose of Sertraline has remained at a steady 150mg daily since July 2015, even in the face of all that crappiness with Le Français…

2)      … which resulted in piano lessons and a resolution to stay single, made easier by my devotion to the fictional chap I have concocted.

3)      Since we last met I've travelled in a hot air balloon, I’ve made The World out of cake, and I’ve been Aladdin, Guy Fawkes, Puck and, er, Beryl…

4)      … but I can’t wait to see the finished script for TMTG’s 2017 pantomime. Particularly as it’s me writing it.

5)      I have discovered the Meaning of Life. The meaning of my life, anyway.

I’ve survived the interim with more than a little help from my friends, but also by adjusting the way I look at the world. It’s not easy, and as winter’s bony fingers uncurl themselves and start reaching for my butt flab, I find that I’m going to need extra padding. So it’s time. Time for this old boot to reboot the reboot.

The -embers and the -ober have their beauties, granted, but it’s hard to see them through this veil of fear. Dwindling daylight hours and dropping temperatures shrink my usefulness and cover the ground with an icy sheet, making the slippery slope to the year’s end even more treacherous. My festive aversion seems to be outdoing itself, despite a couple of super days last year. A decision to stay single is all very well, and I laugh heartily to myself as I starfish out under the double duvet, with the window open ‘cos that’s the way I like it. However, in the pauses between not having to inhale anyone else’s body gas and watching what the hell I want on Netflix, the loneliness can bite down hard. One of my survival tricks is to avoid such pauses. Another is to write, as you’re never alone with a colon: never paused by a full stop.

There’s a definite change in tone to my previous ramblings – can you see it? Can you? If not, force yourself into my annals (DOUBLE N) and investigate more closely. As mentioned, I’m flipping my outlook on its bonce. With this comes the idea of blogging more frequently, but less turdily. Delicate morsels, rather than indigestible wedges that need to be washed down with liquids and a Gaviscon chaser. So that’s me done, for now.

All you have to do is stick around and watch the sagas unfold. Every pair of eyes that scans these words is also a pair of arms reaching out to support me as I stumble across to Spring. In doing that, I’ll be able to extend my own support to fellow season-strugglers and we’ll all be helping each other. (Meaning of Life #1 – ta daaaaah!) I can guarantee drama, entertainment and top-notch punctuation, all finished with a generous dollop of honest, from-the-heart Lizzie-ness. Unfortunately, I can’t promise you that you won’t be disappointed; I can only hope that the cause of that disappointment is not me.

How Soon is Now? What Do You Want from Me? Why is Lizzie resorting to song titles for her trailer? Is Vic There? Do Ya Think I'm Sexy? The answers to none of these and fewer will be revealed in the next exciting mouthful. Don't forget to swallow.