The Art of Self Destruction

It has been a frustrating few days. To be honest it has been a frustrating few weeks. Whereas in January I got my head down, dealt with Christmas and put myself back to where I want to be, February to date has been 17 days of damage. Trent Reznor might call it the art of self destruction. I'd borrow another of his song titles to articulate what I've been of late. Piggy.

When I'm on form, I can diet, exercise, work, be a great dad, decent husband and keep going like the duracell bunny. Knocked out of stride, the diet goes to pot, exercise is removed from my dictionary, work becomes a struggle and while I'll always do my best for the family, I'm not great fun to be around when I'm exhausted. Dosing up on sugar and caffeine stabilises things in the short term, but when that avenue has already been passed all that is left is the inevitable crash.

I've probably been there today. I was unusually abrupt with a colleague, snappy when I got home. After days of overeating and not getting enough sleep, all I really wanted to do was crawl up into a ball in a dark room. But the kids still need putting to bed and dinner still needs cooking. Realising that my fatigue was more mental than physical, I reached for the running gear and opted for a dose of shock treatment, A short, quick run around the block designed to wake me from my slumber.

21 minutes is a not a long run for me these days, but tonight I think it was long enough to clear the cobwebs. I don't want a Head Like a Hole. Nor do I want to Hurt. Tomorrow is another day, a chance to start afresh. Hopefully back on track.

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