"It's just like the war. But without the war."

I don't know what happened last night at/after kung fu. Possibly it was the endorphin rush, possibly a state of heightened exhaustion that has gone full-circle, but I felt extremely positive following the session. I came home and, despite aching like a mule working at a water mill, vowed I'd stop saying negative things and thinking in negative ways (where possible, I mean; I'm not quite born again). Relentless tiredness has a way of ripping away joie de vivre, replacing it with despair. Your perspective, judgement, sense of fun, humour, tolerance, confidence and patience take a hike.

Conquering insomnia – or, rather, its effects – by doing something as gruelling as a martial art while feeling as energetic as a melting Baked Alaska, has proved (to me) that I can take myself on further than I thought possible. I feel stronger, I am stronger and can cope with more than I knew was possible. It was a bit of an epiphany. Even mentally, I feel more steely. And, at the moment, I need to be. I am almost doing the jobs of editor, deputy editor and commissioning editor.

I love (most) work, and I like to work hard (mostly). Yes, I'm a tad odd. I don't like being patronised though. The 'real' editor, Gordon, who is not around much (he's also freelance), sometimes winks at me. Not in a pervacious manner but rather in an avuncular and somewhat melodramatic, 'It's the war and we'll get through it, my girlie' way. Gordon says things like: "Oh, it's all such a fiddle, isn't it? Oh, what a mess..." and "My God, what will we do, eh?", oh, and "We'll get through it, won't we?" instead of just getting on with it. I half expect songs about the Siegried Line to come whistlin' from his lips.

Gordon is a nice enough chap and I feel guilty for criticising him but he's like an annoying puppy. And he obviously thinks I'm around 25 - he called me a 'genius' today for agreeing to do what I consider to be a small part of my job. All I could say was: "Oh, er, do you think I'm a genius?" After all, with my new resolve of using positivity where I can, I could hardly say, "What? Me? But I'm really thick, mate."

By the way, I ache like a brute and can hardly walk today. But I still ran up the stairs and escalators to and from work. Am I becoming one of those exercise addicts, do you suppose? Or just a nutter?