Random Gists

For as long as I can remember, I have always intensely disliked Poetry. I only ever read it if it was really funny and witty and quite clevery written. For the most part, I just didn't get it. I also didn't get poets, why were they always so moody? How could they say so much in just a few words? and how on earth were they able to make every other word rhyme so cleverly? I was suspicious of them. Maybe I didn't like Poetry because I was so horrible at it, but then again, maybe I was so horrible at it beacuse I didn't like it. Like the chicken and Egg debate, It's one of those questions that we will never really know the answer to.

In the past couple of weeks though, something a bit strange has been going on. In my quiet time, while meditating, I found that I was expressing myself in the place of prayer through poetry. Very weird. I didn't really get it. I still don't. As I sit here typing this post, it suddenly struck me that God does indeed have a serious thing for music, so maybe that was where it's all been coming from. My spirit connecting with His and finding itself pulled in that direction. In fact, the morning after I heard an awesome sermon about understandfing my identity, I sat down and actually wrote down what my heart poured out. It honestly wasnt as bad as I feared. Maybe i'll share it on this blog one day. Maybe. I'm still having a hard time reconcilling the idea of me as a *cough* *splutter* dare I say it? Poet. We'll see how it goes.

In other news, denial is indeed a terrible thing.

The state of mind I mean. Not the river in Egypt. A few days ago, I had to wake up and face the fact that I had been in denial for a few months now about certain habits. Certain eating habits to be precise. I think that when you have your Shawarma dudes' number practically on speed dial, you can no longer claim to only indulge in the cholestorol packed albeit highly satisfying treat only occassionally. Also, a pack of Maltesers and Cake should never be substituted for dinner. Never. So last week when the zip on one of my pencil skirts split open as I was trying to put it on, I convinced myself that I had tugged on it just a bit to hard. Prior to that, when my favorite skinny jeans were just a bit, okay, I admit way too snug when I slipped into them for a movie/dinner date with friends, I told myself it must have shrunk seeing as i'd just had it washed, but on then Sunday when I realised that I could barely button up the jacket of my Suit as I prepared to rush out the door in order to make the early morning worker's prayers session, I could no longer deny the ovbious. I had gotten fat.

Like gravity and Madonna's plastic surgery it was a fact that could simply not be denied. So now, I've decided to do something about it. Starting with replacing chocolate with fruit, eating more protein and doing away with fizzy drinks altogether. I'll beat the battle of the bulge, so help me God, and a few months from now, all this will be history, even if a slightly embarrasing one. If only the prices of fruits hadn't almost doubled recently due to the fasting season. Oh well, a pineapple is still way cheaper than a chick whizz no matter which way I look at it. I can do this, Yes I can.

If however all my good intentions disappear faster than civil servants seconds after official closing hours, I suppose I could always declare a fast. Fourteen days of nothing but clear spring water ought to do the trick. No?

See you all on the Skinny(er) side of life.

Cheers