I'm going to have a killer week, I said. That was a lie. It's not been that bad but killer, it ain't. And now I am in a serious funk.
The bad mood was hovering around the edges last night and then at about 6.45pm, after an hour of cooking and washing dishes - it landed like a lead balloon. The balloon has since remained firmly tethered. Two large slices of home-made chocolate brownie seemed to help anchor it.
I woke up this morning and I could not feel more fed up. What about, I don't actually know. No exercise since Thursday's spinning and a few terrible eating choices are definitely underpinning the grumpiness. In fact, that is probably is what it's all about and I'm letting other things that would normally roll off, cling on.
If I've not gained any weight on Thursday, I'll be the same weight as I was over a month ago. I've got my dress fitting on Saturday. In my current frame of mind these two statements make me panic, and then think about having a little cry.
I'm supposed to be going swimming tonight. My mum is staying with us for the night and I've asked her to bring her costume but to be honest, it's the last thing I feel like doing.
Tomorrow I've got my induction with my personal trainer. This isn't how I wanted to feel for it.
This is all very woe is me and dramatic, I know. I've lost all perspective in the last 36 hours.