11.46pm Wednesday night. Shit day. Shit week in fact. The pinnacle was a vertigo attack on the tube on Saturday afternoon. I was in the middle of talking to my friend when a loud screeching noise, the kind you hear on the tube all the time, set me off. I felt the fear first; my friend told me later that I suddenly had a crazy look in my eyes. Next thing I knew the spin hit and I collapsed into her lap.
Sunday. Felt ropey as hell all day.
Monday, I gave up and booked myself into a spa to cheer myself up. Bliss.
Tuesday. Came up for air and managed to write an article.
Today, Wednesday, started badly. Rhys took the kids to school. I was in and out of bed. By lunchtime, cabin fever hit and I decided to take a walk and listen to my new favourite podcast series (Death in Ice Valley. Amazing. Thank you Colin for the tip). But the dizziness peaked and I found myself targeting each bench in the park as I walked.
Made it home. The full spin hit as I was cooking dinner. Rhys took over. Managed to read some books to Tom from bed and then watched some shit TV. Then, at 10pm, when I should have been trying to get to sleep, I thought fuck it.
I pulled on my clothes, unlocked the front door and headed out, not really knowing what I was planning.
Today is the 3 week anniversary since I started the “no fun diet”; no booze, no chocolate, no sugar, no gluten, no dairy. 10pm on a drizzly Wednesday night is clearly the right time to rebel. I walked to the Co-op, bought myself a big bar of 85% chocolate (see, still a little bit sensible), a Hello magazine (cos surely reading about narcissitic celebs is the key to feeling better) and headed to the pub. After scanning the pub to check I didn’t know anyone (I still have some dignity), I ordered myself a glass of Pinot Noir and settled down with my Hello magazine.
But 10 minutes in, the dizziness hit good and proper. Turns out it’s a little bit freaky thinking that a vertigo attack is about to hit when you are on your own in a pub, slightly drunk (tolerance is not what it was) and your husband is at home fast asleep.
And that’s how I discovered that I can’t even do rebellion.
So I booked myself an Uber, came home, poured myself another glass of wine and put Michael Bolton on.
Thank god for a good old bit of cheese.