Those days

This is one of them. I wish I still did martial arts on days like this. I miss it. 

Erm, it's May...

Please, someone, tell me how it's May. It's mid-May at that.

Sorry I haven't been on here much – and apologies to those who left me messages and comments that have gone unnoticed until today. You know who you are and I send you good vibes and thanks for not giving up on me.

I sort of don't know where to start. I mean, do I start by writing a huge post that will no doubt take hours and yet fail to convey the reality of life in the past few months? Er, I don't know. One thing that made me think of this blog was my brain-wracking last night as I tried to recall a very rude Finnish word... It has just come back to me and I shall be using it where appropriate.

But anyway.

A summary to begin with, to ease me back into cyberland and blogdom... I hope you will forgive me for being a tad lazy about this.

Sleep – this has not been as bad, or as scant, as one might expect. I am lucky to have such a laid-back and clever bairn, who knows how much mummy values shut-eye. However, baby's teething does cause her discomfort and breaks up her kip at times. Five night in a row is tough. I sometimes feel so tired I cannot move. But she is worth all of it.

House – I am now living in a house, not a flat. It is a tiny house, a Victorian cottage, but there is no GFG, no door slamming from below! Hurrah. However, the woman next door (WND) refuses to remove her stilettos and plods around her wooden floors like a shire horse on stilts. She's a right moody cow with a face like a smacked arse most of the time, but that's for another day. The woman on the other side is, happily, fab.

Work – I have done only a few days' work, as I am on maternity leave. I am pretty broke but now realise how much I frittered in the past. I think my attitude to cash has changed permanently. When I think of how much I/we used to spend on what is, basically crap, I shudder.

Kung fu – this is back on the agenda. I ache like a bastard at times after class, but it's fantastic to be exercising again and to be back in the swing of things. I'm even sparring and fighting blokes twice my size and half my age. Slightly demented, but it's good fun (most of the time).

Motherhood (last but not least, obv) – the most amazing experience. Ne plus ultra. Quite surreal at times. Exhausting. Exhilarating. Energising. Educational. Wouldn't change it for the world.

Virus

It's nearly 4am. I am sitting here with a mug of honey and Lemsip, albeit orange (or sommat) flavour, which makes it more bearable.

I hate colds. They are poo. But I still went to kung fu last night on account of my positive mental attitude: I do not have a cold, I am healthy, I am strong and viruses cannot win!

Bugger.

Thump

I was hit by a wall of sadness this evening. It came from nowhere and swamped me, a fierce wave of emotion that smacked my solar plexus and made me catch my breath. OK, so I wasn't in the world's best mood (poor kip, painful knee, raw skin on my face, sore arm post-flu jab, being unexpectedly kicked across the room while holding a pad, which f*cking hurt my leg!).

But, it was when I saw the little chairs at the side of the room, the small plastic seats that infants sit on, that something happened inside me. It was odd. It was as though a plug had been pulled. I felt as though I might weep loudly, and never stop. I just swallowed and batted back the tears that had started to form.

This was, I think, about people, justice and my faith in karma. Baby P justice, justice for the innocent Asian man killed by two fuckwits who got 'life' (13 and 17 years in jail before parole comes up for consideration – how in hell is that life?!), justice for girls raped in D R Congo. And on it goes.

The one thing that keeps many people going is that there is justice, divine or otherwise. But how can we have faith when apathy reigns and we let inhumane behaviour go on as we quote the tough lives of those who are responsible as the reasons why. This tolerance for the intolerable surely makes us culpable? If you don't know something's happening then you can't stop it. But if you do... like with the case of Baby P, and still nothing happens to change it, where is there to go? Is this just anarchy, albeit diluted? Do we have any control over anything? The thought that we don't and that we have no one to really rely on (and by that I mean the 'authorities'), is chilling.

I couldn't drive. I am frustrated with myself, with things that have affected me, with powerlessness, with things beyond my control. I sat and cried. There was nothing else to do.

Grit

Yet again, I have an injury that is preventing me from going completely hell for leather in kung fu. It's the old knee situation. It's my own fault. Both my knees were painful so I did physio exercises; they got better and I stopped the physio. Now, one is bad again – searing pain when it's in a certain position.

It's annoying. Not only do I have the knee thing, but the skin around my eyes, following the eye infection, which is still waxing and waning, is so tight that it hurts. Nothing seems to help. It just flares up and abates, with varying degrees of severity. Last night, my skin was so itchy that I hardly slept and my eyes watered and itched again. I have longish fingernails and was so uncomfortable that I was scratching my face without really caring what happened. Luckily, it doesn't look as bad as it feels. I was so tired when I dragged myself out of bed this morning...

I had hesitated to tell my fu teacher, N, that I was yet again, yet abloodygain, injured/unfit. He said he had never met anyone like me (in terms of my capacity for things to go a bit awry). I said I hadn't either. I know that many of my ailments are stress-related, and stem from lack of sleep and unpleasant things happening to me. But I have to report such things, or I'll be shouted at for not performing remotely well.

I needn't have worried about N's reaction, which was possibly the nicest/most motivating thing he has ever said to me – that he "would be so annoyed if you don't become really good at kung fu, as the amount of grit you must have to keep on, despite all those things happening must be huge..." It was a bit of a shock to hear something positive, as I'd become somewhat conditioned to criticism. But it meant a lot. Without going into my life history, I suppose I am strong. S tells me I am. So do close friends. But I often, too often, forget and think I'm rubbish. So damned British.

Cold infested – again

Agh, I have yet another cold. It has robbed me of sleep this week and given me a sore nose, chesty cough and too much phlegm for my liking. The virus (above) is amazing looking though, don't you think?

I toyed with the idea of going to kung fu earlier this week but wisely refrained and took to my bed with painkillers washed down with a mug of hot water that had manuka honey and whiskey dissolved in it. It seemed to knock me out. But still, as is the curse of the self-employed, I have had to work... Thank God I am at home and can sniffle about with no make-up on and get out of bed a bit later than I usually do. I am also wrapped up in several badly coordinating tops and a pair of jeans. M, the rabbit, just looks at me, cute as hell, eyes as limpidly affectionate as ever.

S told me I look lovely yesterday evening, though I knew this was far from the truth. Bless him. I was pale and the skin around my eyes is dry and uncomfortable. We ordered a delicious curry this evening. I don't have much appetite or energy but a curry always goes down well and I'm certain it helps to destroy the cold virus. Worth a try, anyway.

Focus and pressure

I've slept well since we complained to the police and GFG went on her holidays. The stress of Monday night/Tuesday morning was immense... I felt as though I had run a marathon and was in recovery for at least two days afterwards.

I went to kung fu to get rid of my pent up adrenaline through the sheer physicality of the exercise and to do the best bit, sparring. It felt as though something had clicked in my head as I blocked blows and dealt them. I did get my fair share of whacks but I stood my ground more than I have in ages and actually earned praise from my instructor, N, for showing improvement.

Having confronted the GFG creature and slept well, I felt sharper. I forced myself to think of the things that were annoying me (which wasn't difficult) and visualised myself batting it all away. It seemed to work. I was bopped on the head, face, stomach, and various other spots, but that's all part and parcel of it.

N later said that I needed to be put under pressure to spar. It's true that I am best under pressure. I like a challenge; I find work that's brainless tedious. I like having deadlines; my ears prick up when someone tells me something can't be done. I'm not a rebel (or, if I am, I always have a cause) but I think there's very little in this world that's impossible, if you put your mind to it.

Weekus horribilus

The people waiting in the hospital eye casualty department were a mixed bunch. There were some like me, in their 30s, with nothing too obvious afflicting them. Then there were older folk with super-thick glasses on. And then, of course, there were a couple of young men with black eyes, stories to tell and bloody bandages.

I had secured a late appointment at the GP who told me to go to eye casualty immediately as the antibiotics and other types of drops had failed to clear my eye for a month. It's been itchy, blurred and red most days. The GP, who is lovely, asked me if I have been stressed lately. I mentioned only that I had had money in Icesave, which collapsed amid much uncertainty over what would happen to savers' money; I decided the rest of my worries would take up far too long to explain so curtailed any further chat.

By the time I got to the hospital, which charges a stupid amount for parking, it was nearly midday. The GP had warned me that I would be there for a couple of hours, but I was not prepared for a five-hour wait! It was ridiculous. Luckily, I had taken some work with me, a report that needed to be read, so I sat there with my green highlighter and wodge of paper as absolutely sod all seemed to happen around me.

Occasionally, I went back to my car to buy a new parking ticket (£10 spent on that) and sat in the autumn sun listening to the radio. Strange fat caterpillars with wings (I think) crept over the windscreen so slowly that any distance covered was only apparent after many minutes. My route to the hospital, as advised by the GP, had taken me through a beautiful park, where dying leaves of green, gold and red hues made me catch my breath. If I wake early at the weekend, I will take my camera with me and capture some images. Mist rising and deer feeding... stunning.

Eventually, after lunch (£7) I saw the ophthalmologist who flicked my eyelid inside out (OUCH) and prodded about. He ruled out the usual infections and said my eyelids were inflamed and the eye itself didn't show anything unusual in terms of sight etc. He seemed to accuse me of using make-up to irritate my eyes, which I found really annoying. I haven't put any eye make-up on for bloody ages! I miss lashing my lashes with mascara and eyeliner. I've only relatively recently got the hang of painting a line above my upper lashes.

Dr Eye gave me a tube of steroid ointment that I must squeeze into my affected eye for a week and that was that. I got home at 5pm. So far, the redness in my eye has subsided a bit but last night I lay awake as the pesky itching returned in the dead of night. I started reflecting then about my savings, my expenditure (which I have reined in but does nevertheless merit consideration), my lack of work, my appalling neighbour's ongoing idiocy, my body's reaction to cumulative stressors over the years, and somehow fell back to sleep.

My kung fu instructor, N, said I seemed withdrawn yesterday and a couple of my classmates saw through my unconvincing smile and asked if I was OK. I had to blink back tears. Normally I can hide how I feel from most people but I just didn't have it in me. The thumpthumpthump of thingafterthing can be wearing. I was paying N for a class when he said he reckoned my eye problem was down to stress, which I agree is right; he advised me to train to get rid of stress. Trouble is classes cost... I have the option of doing some leafleting for the club in return for classes, which is good, but it is slightly disheartening that this is what I must do. If any writing needs to be done for the club, I can hopefully do that in return for classes (I've done some in the past, as a favour), but it seems nowt needs doing now. I must sort out some work...

This has not been the best week ever. Not the worst. But not the best.

Eye drips and drops

There are drafts of three unfinished posts in my 'posts' basket thing. They are entitled: "What goes around", "Choosing battles" and "Reflection".

The first two posts, had I bothered/had time to complete them, were about downstairs woman, GFG, and her wet walls and ceiling, which mysteriously leaked really badly for one night and then stopped. She had to come up and talk to us after being nasty for months. She still remained frosty and rude but it was funny to see her on the back foot. I call it karma. I call GFG, the door slammer extraordinaire, a bitch.

The third post, possibly more worthy of my time and brain power, was about how very tired I feel at times now. It reminds me of how I felt when I was suffering particularly badly from insomnia. I cannot now imagine how I got through weeks, months, years, without madness descending. (Or maybe it did...)

My current tiredness is due to having an eye infection that has gone on and on and on and on. I cannot wear eye make-up, which makes me feel a bit naked if I'm in a professional situation (I like my eyes to look 'polished', if that is possible). The skin around my right eye is red and raw, and I look as though I have been punched. The eye is scratchy (eyeball and lid). The eye streams at times. There seem to be bits in my eye. I wake due to all of the above, and I scratch and press my poor eyes.

I know it is not good to rub your eyes but I do so with much vigour. I do it in my sleep. I rub until my eyeballs squeak. The bad one is so irritated that I screw my fist on to the closed eye until my mouth waters. (I know, this is weird. I feel strange and obscene writing it down.)

My GP gave me some drops (that followed the previous prescription of eye cream) and while the drops feel cool, they don't stop the ITCHING. Bloody, stinking bastard itching.

I am irritated, itchy and annoyed. Even doing hours and hours of kung fu, which made me madly tired, have not been able to overtake the keep-awakeness of the eye thing. Hmph.

Things on my mind

• My dad is out of hospital and recovering. The doctors, on the whole, were incredible. The nurses ranged from fantastic to below average. There were occasions, however, where we had to drop in that I am a journalist – funny how attitudes changed from monosyllabic/apathetic to communicating/caring... Hmm.

• I love sparring. I can hardly walk today as I've done two days of kung fu in a row (yesterday was seriously hardcore – I sparred with three men, including my instructor, who batted me around as though I was a piece of string). Wonderful, wonderful stuff. It is by far the best exercise anyone can do. And great catharsis.

• The neighbour is a total c*nt and needs to be spoken to – probably tonight. She has again woken us with door slamming. It is unacceptable.

Cold infested

It's horrible being self-employed when you have a cold. I have had one all week – it started mildly and then, due to commuting for three hours a day and being in air-conditioned offices, it has worsened.

I've been drinking horrible Lemsip (orange and something) and trying to eat healthily, though I seem drawn to cheese (Mini Cheddars, cheese Doritos/M&S tortilla chips, cheese sandwiches, cheese sauce (on gnocchi) and erm, I think that might be it).

I have an eye infection now and look as though I have been punched. My right eye was red and angry when I woke – I have thrown all my (newish) mascara into the bin just to be sure I'm not harbouring germs. A day in bed would have seen this off but hey, no such thing as sick leave for the likes of me. I so want to scratch my eye – it is dry and gritty. Aaaaagh. I've been coming home and flopping almost every night.

I think I picked up the virus from a chap in kung fu last week. I asked how he was and he snuffled: "Am OK but am just getting over a cold, thought I should come back to class." Oh brilliant. Then we had to hold hands while stretching, which can be a sweaty affair at the best of times – and doesn't perspiration carry toxins? Charming.

I wish the instructor would bring in two new rules: 1) do not train when you are ill (it is selfish) and 2) always use deodorant! (some of the blokes stink!)

Fight Club

I love it. I love it. I do...

I sparred for the first time in ages tonight (following a cracked rib and knee problems). I haven't worn my fighting gloves (well, mitts) since January, so this was a big deal for me. Erm, I was a bit scared when I started but instructor N told the first man I was paired up with to back off a bit as he was going for it a bit too harshly (and he has plenty of experience, compared to me). I must admit, I'd have come off pretty badly without this intervention. The second chap was more restrained and we had a great session. I need to be far more 'solid', I know. And, of course, my technique needs plenty of work. But it was bloody brilliant. The amount of energy you expend is amazing, and you feel as high as a kite afterwards.

This was catharsis at its best, believe me.

Speaking up

Regular readers may know that I've been on a bit of a downer lately, which worsened after my kung fu teacher said a couple of things that upset me.

On Saturday, we had a club day out, which I'd arranged a while back (I am the social secretary). I was in two minds as to whether I should go (due to said comments) and I had also woken with swollen eyes, which looked as though I had been punched. I got the swelling down with cold water and managed to appear vaguely presentable, pleased that the sunshine meant I could wear sunglasses.

At the meal, N was seated on one side of me – I wondered if he would be frosty but, on the contrary, he was warm and friendly. My intention was not to talk about my concerns at the meal, as it seemed a bit unfair/irrelevant to the other people there. However, V, whose tongue loosens with alcohol, announced that she thought N wanted 'to get rid of' her/us/people from the class but later added that she had noticed that he was being nice to her 'now that she was focused'. I couldn't get a word in edgewise (V is easily the loudest person I know) as she and another classmate, Diane, argued across the dinner table, which was a bit awkward for everyone else. N, who looked shocked, stressed that 'nothing was ever personal', said he had to try different ways to push us, and, interestingly, that it frustrated him that he felt he couldn't teach us at times.

As the conversation shifted and people left, I raised my own concerns about what N had said to me in the pub. He explained that I am animated when I talk about something I am really interested in (yes) but can look vacant in kung fu (matter of opinion, but I put that down to a lack of confidence in my ability, not vacuity), that I'm not a vacant/vacuous person (good!), but that he wanted to see animation in kung fu (fair enough).

Why couldn't he have just said that in the first place?! I wouldn't have gone home and felt like shite and nearly thrown away 18 months of learning something I absolutely love. I don't mind criticism but there's a time and place (not the bloody pub)... He also said I'd clearly improved a great deal and could potentially be very good, which threw me (in a good way) after all the 'you're crap' comments.

I'm satisfied in the knowledge that my teacher now hopefully knows that a barrage of unbroken negativity doesn't motivate me but sends me the opposite way, deep into a shell (it's this that possibly makes me seem 'vacant'... the irony). And I'm convinced that come what may, it's always, always, always better to air grievances. Always. Not only does it empower, but by remaining tight-lipped, how on earth can anything have a chance to change?

Enough

My kung fu teacher yesterday said that I have no presence, that there is nothing in my eyes, that I look vacant/vacuous (I'm not sure which little insult he chose) and that he would not be surprised if my eyes roll back in my head, "as there was nothing there".

This little commentary, in the pub with about six other people, happened after I was telling a few of my friends there about being asked for ID (they had been talking about trying to buy alcohol when they were underage). He thinks that if I had any presence, I would not have been mistaken for a younger person. Well, fuck presence. I am seriously considering jacking it in – and telling him why. Kung fu is meant to relieve me of stress, not be a source of it. Maybe I am just not cut out for it (how many times have I said that?)...

I've arranged a day out for the class tomorrow [that was like pulling teeth] and now don't want to go (I am repeatedly deemed a "rubbish" social secretary even though I am the only one who has ever bothered to organise anything new; at least I make a bloody effort).

Another later conversation with someone else, which I won't go into here, ended in me feeling as though I'm a pain in the arse what with insomnia and so on. I suppose I am, at times.

I wish I could expand on all the reasons I don't sleep, but I don't want to. Suffice to say anyone going through similar wouldn't have much fucking presence and might find their energy is taken up with just getting through the day. It's all made me feel insulted and worthless. I slept for about three hours and feel like utter shit today.

Holding back the fears

Apparently, one of the reasons I can't always (well, often) hit as hard as I want to in kung fu is because I am internalising certain things (namely anger). I hold back. The reasons are myriad.

It's quite bizarre, this mind-affecting-body lark. I am going to try to cease with this internal baloney, which only ever damages me, and hit/kick the crap out of the next pad I meet. When I get there, the catharsis, I imagine, will be explosive.

Poor me etc...

This has been a strange week so far. I haven't felt so ridiculously low in ages. There are various things causing me worry and I don't know where to start. I had work to do yesterday – a bit of work – but not as much as I had planned. I'd marked certain assignments in my diary and have had to Tippex them out. The pages stuck together.

So, my diary is now nearly empty but I'd arranged a few social things that may now have to hit the dust. It's not fun having time on your hands when you didn't expect it and haven't budgeted for it. I will of course be chasing new work but I've lost about a month's salary, at least, and have nothing booked in bar a few days' work over the next few weeks. There are no guarantees that work will come my way... talk of budget-cutting is all too common.

So, after doing my remaining bits of work, I sorted out a pile of letters, paid the taxman, shredded a load of documents and then switched off my computer. It gets a bit depressing, constantly flicking your eyes up to your inbox. I set fire to one letter – a rejection – and held it over the sink. At first, the flames were slow but they gathered pace quickly and I had to turn the tap on as I dropped the burning paper. The embers smelled good. I put the damp remnants in the bin, ensuring there were no flickers (I once emptied an ash tray into a bin at work, many years ago, and the whole thing went up in flames – it was pretty impressive...).

After 5pm, I lay down to have a think. I was shattered after spending the day trying to remain polite to the people who have pissed me off and messed me around. It's made me cry on and off since Monday. I haven't done anything to deserve such treatment at work and feel utterly disposable.

Most others don't understand – they'll just say that they, too, have money worries (while telling you about their next holiday abroad, knowing full well they will be paid at month-end). It amazes me that people think journalists are well-paid. Believe me, it's not the case.

I know the thing to do is to aggressively chase new work, and that is what I will do. These hiatuses show me I need alternatives and perhaps represent a doorway from the mundane and known to new pastures. I've been through much worse but that doesn't make this situation any easier.

One money-related problem is that I'm not sure I'll be able to afford my kung fu classes – they keep me sane despite my moronically bad performance. Though I think I must be one of the least coordinated people in the history of the world, I challenge myself to go. Even when I think I'll give it a miss, as I'm not getting anywhere, I somehow find myself drawn to it.

Sometimes I manage to draw down into the things that really do need to come out and I belt the pads hard. My technique, as my long-suffering instructor N says, is usually wrong. He is right, of course... it must be maddening watching people flail like squid in a weird ballet of ineffectual movement. But I try my best, though I am sure appallingness is the overall impression I give, and that – at times like these – makes me shrivel.

Blue

Today was one of those days when I wished I had stayed in bed...

• I've had one assignment slashed by half, at very short notice, and it has made me feel awful. It's an awkward situation where someone wants to save money and is questioning why I need X number of days to do something. I've taken X days to do the same volume for years and been praised and asked back again and again. But now? Now, all of a sudden, I'm being made to feel as though I've lied about the amount of time I spent previously (when I worked my arse off) and have been questioned about what I did. It's very depressing. I feel like a popped balloon. I haven't felt like crying about work for a long time.

• I had a headache all day yesterday as I didn't get enough sleep. Consequently, I didn't sleep well last night, which for me, is a bloody shitty disaster.

• I was absolutely dire in kung fu. I almost burst into tears in the middle of class; in fact tears did roll down my cheeks but I pretended they were sweat, not that it fooled anyone. N, the instructor, was infinitely patient with me. I think he was willing me not to cry. I was burning up inside as everyone seemed to grasp what we were meant to be doing and I ended up looking like a moron. My brain just wasn't retaining anything. It was like a vacuum. A couple of my fellow students said I was "doing well", but I know I wasn't. They were trying to be supportive but it just made me feel even more inadequate that they had noticed me struggling so badly, so much so that they (who are by no means brilliant) felt they could comment. I know they were trying to help, though... I know. But it felt rather patronising.

• I had a (surprisingly healthy) ready meal and some old cream liquor for dinner. I felt better – number – as the alcohol warmed my body and quietened my brain.

• I've had my hair cut recently; it was very long and is now shoulder length. Most people have said positive things about it but a couple of people have said nothing except "Oh, you've had your hair cut?" What am I supposed to say? "Er, no. I just have a wig on." Why do people bother saying anything if they think I look horrible? Why not just not say anything? The worst was one friend who said: "Ah, had your hair cut..." and then did this noise, a sort of elongated "oh" mixed with a "hmmm" while nodding slowly and unconvincingly. Yeah, that made me feel amazing – thanks. I'd never do that to someone – unless I wanted to hurt them. Main thing is that I really like my hair now, it is much more manageable and is finally in a decent style. S loved it and so do most of my comrades, so what does it matter? (It matters when it's one more criticism to add to a day-full...)

• Oh fuck it. I'm going to bed.

Sleep is magic

It really is. I cannot begin to explain how much better I feel for a good night's sleep. After Wednesday night's awful insomnia, when my head was filled with exhaustion and the accompanying craziness that it brings, I needed serious rest. The brain, when tired has the capacity to be quite self-destructive.

I was so tired yesterday that I ached like I'd been beaten. But I was determined to go to kung fu later so had a little lie down in the sun with M, my rabbit, sitting by my knees. Inevitably I dozed for about 20 minutes. I didn't think it would interfere with my sleep at night, as I was really beyond it and the exercise put paid to any energy left slopping around my bones.

Anyway, I did sleep. I had a nightmare about an awful train crash that woke me violently. It was vivid and frightening. But apart from that little brain treat, I did sleep...

Silly fool

Thank God I slept last night. I think sanity, such as it was, has returned.

My body ached all day with tiredness. I was hoping to just get through the working day, and would see if I was still standing come time for my kung fu class after work.

During the day, I drank plenty of tea: strong, dark. I ate a huge plate of pasta with fat black olives in it at lunch, accompanied by a friend. It was really good to have a hot meal at lunch – much better than mayonnaise-smothered cardiac-arresting sandwiches that purport to be healthy.

I switched on my iPod at about 4pm (my current boss doesn't mind), when I was seriously flagging and the old familiar feeling of deep exhaustion settled on me. But, listening to music – 'my top rated' – had a strange effect. The heaviness in my body disappeared. My head cleared. I felt energy course through me: endorphins caused by pleasure, I assume. It was quite a dramatic effect.

So, I managed to get to my kung fu class. I did feel pretty zonked, though. I felt like I would cry at times. I think my energy reserves, stoked by the music endorphins, were used up in the first 20 minutes and after that, I felt as though I was rubbish at what I was doing; my very short period of feeling any good drifted away. I know my instructor, N, wasn't impressed. I wasn't either. My shoulders were very tense, the sort of tightness that causes pain. They still hurt this morning. I need to relax. I need a massage.

Obviously, exercise releases endorphins in the body, giving one a natural lift and disguising pain, to an extent. The effect it has on me, when combined with my frustration, is to make me battle through things, like a fool, and push myself. (Adrenaline, another pesky hormone, does the same.) So, I decided, in my fatigued wisdom, to try to kick for the first time in six months. (This was kicking a thick pad.) As I did it with one leg, it felt OK. I was pleased. Then, I switched legs and felt a twinge. Just a little twinge. N asked me if I should be kicking. By that point I was on number 19 of 20 kicks with the second leg. I shrugged, thinking I had to test the knee at some point. Didn't feel any pain at the time – but you never do. Trouble is, the bloody thing is aching today. I'm hoping to God I haven't put myself back to square one. I really could cry.

Praise be

One year and four months into my kung fu career, I've earned some praise.

N said I looked as though I was, for the first time, actually hitting the pad. He said he thought I had something going on in my eyes for once. It's true. I felt it. It was deeply satisfying. He said 'good' and 'that's it'. And I felt, for a while, as though I was in the zone. N doesn't praise often, and when he does, it means a lot, makes the initial tears and frustration worthwhile.

I was annoyed at a variety of things at the time (which helps) but managed to transfer the emotion from my head to my muscles. It's not easy. But it can be done. There are certain things in my life that anger me so deeply that I have no words to express them. Maybe my body will show me the way.

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Listening to: Portishead - Hunter