Desperately seeking inspiration

I’ve been playing hide-and-seek with inspiration, my fair-weather friend, for a couple of days now. I can’t find the little bugger anywhere.
I’m working on an assignment that demands ideas on ‘widely different subjects’. I’ve already covered my mainstay, travel, and I’m guessing booze and food, my other major ‘areas of focus’ are not going to cut it in the differentiation stakes.

My new muse?

Perhaps I need to get myself a muse? M-cat is currently in repose beside me, legs akimbo, and I think she may be auditioning for the part – she’s giving me a very sultry upside-down look. Hmmm… upside-down… maybe a different perspective…

Nope. Looking at the world upside down has done nothing but give me a slight headache (and increased my risk of throwing a hip). And no – the headache is nothing to do with my booze-based buddies thank you. My body is a temple and no drink has been taken for three whole days(!) Although maybe that’s the problem, maybe the creative and grape juices need to mingle. They do play very nicely together - and have spawned manys the (a)musing…

Positively glowing with inspiration...

Alas I can’t pop my cork just yet. Aside from the fact that drinking alone on a Thursday afternoon for the purposes of creativity may have those unidentified imbibers knocking at my door, I have to go for a run later. In the rain. Deep joy. My dedication knows no bounds and my body is indeed a temple …of doom.


Apparently Jack London said;
'You can't wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.'
And so I shall. I think running with a club in hand might raise a few too many suspicious glances, so hopefully tracking down my stimuli and force-feeding them endorphins will do the trick. Right you slippery little suckers – I coming to get you!

Fitness – my fickle friend

She’s one demanding diva that fitness – as I have learnt the hard way. I’ve didn’t pay too much attention to her last year and she does not like to be ignored. As soon as you take your eyes off her she flounces out of the room and leaves the door open for those naughty pixies, flab and cellulite. And once she’s been and gone, fitness can only be tempted back by bigger and better offerings.

No matter how much you give she wants ‘MORE!’ (yes she shouts – and fixes you with a crazy stare at the same time). Past offerings are quickly forgotten. My 10k, for instance, is now covered in dust – shoved on a shelf somewhere in her evil lair next to its sad little 5k mates. I can almost see them huddling together for warmth.

I thought I’d change tactics this year and offer her a bit of yoga. Her look of derision could have cut me with a knife. A bit of lying about and stretching is nowhere near enough for her. Sadly it’s right up my street - you even get to have a little nap at the end. Lovely.

I know what needs to be done and I bring her spin on a silver platter. Her eyes light up. ‘Much better’ she chuckles (I imagine her stroking a white cat at this point, Bond-villain style). The more I sweat, the better she likes it. She particularly enjoys a bright pink face (goes beautifully with the ginger) and the odd bout of nausea. Once I’ve pedalled my little legs into oblivion she rewards me with a little sprinkling of endorphins.

But I can’t afford to rest on my laurels with one meagre offering. She wants to see me run, so run I shall – starting right back at the beginning, since the benefit of all my previous efforts elapsed a long time ago. ‘AGAIN!’ she demands, ‘again, again, again!’, like a deranged two-year-old.

So I’ll dig out my trainers and give in to her demands before she leaves me again. I think I’ll have a little stretch and a nap first though – while she’s looking the other way.

Sadly fitness has no respect for a lovely stretch.