philosopher

That is, one pound after another. And in this period I did’nt write because, yes, I have a life, outside. that means: two pizzas and two more dinner parties. Last Sunday, me and my husband got happily drunk. (he more, me less, because I’m the one who drives: 4 glasses of various wines, enough for being cheerful, more than enough to erase all the points in my driving licence, had I met a police patrol) It was a wonderful party, and I don’t want to beat myself. Neither the doctor.  I ran for 35 minutes flat, the best I did since I got heavy again. All considered, it is not so bad

Ok, so you have a new President, I’ll have to stick to mr Berlusconi for another four years, my next salary is not even a salary due to taxes, and, huray, I have lost two pounds. Very hard. I was somewhat hungry during the last week, then today we went to see the family of our late friend Claudio, and we probably won’t touch food for at least two days, my husband and me. I can only say: garlic and onions, in one of the heaviest dishes of Piedmont tradition ( I spare the rest of the description: delicious, but very heavy to digest, not only in calories).

I couldn’t exercise on a too ful stomach, so I went for a walk around my block. And then did some abs. And then I’ll go to the movie to see the latest Clint Eastwood movie.

This is a hard time. I miss my mother, who died last year, I miss our friend Claudio, I need to rent my mother’s flat ( or I won’t be able to pay for the taxes) and every time I go back there to make some change I am even more sad. Moreoer, I’m afraid that my cousin, who live next door, is having an alcool problem. Her mother, who is now in a clinic, suffers from Alzheimer; her father, who walked with me down the aisle (since my own father died in 1984) died early this year. she had to switch to part time at work because she couldn’t face to leave her mother, until she had to give up. She was a strong woman, and had a good man with her, or so I thought. We used to be close when we were young, but life got us apart. Then during summer she suffered from a nervous breakdown, had to stay in hospital for some week. I went to see her several times, helped promptly when she asked me to, saw her in october, elegant and fully alive as she used to be, and then… well I don’t know what happened, and I didn’t dare to ask: I saw her twice and she talked absentmindetly, smelling strongly of alcool, telling me she she fell in the home and broke two ribs. Then she stopped answering at the cell phone and at the door.

I know that there is nothing I can really do, unless she asks me to. I could ask her (ex?) boyfriend the million euro question: what happened. My husband says not to and he is probably right.

Last Friday, and another pound lost, my MD, looking quizzical through his notes, told me” dear lady, it’s three years, and I can’t still say how your metabolism is working, or not working”. Wonderful: not only it seems that any diet doesn’t work, but I am a mystery in nature! And more, I’m paying for it… ( and more, he was late for our appointment, I was late for dinner, fought with my husband and left him alone until Saturday at lunchtime - for my husband dinner time is the single most important thing in his life, because his mother made him ready at 8 p.m. sharp. My father had no fixed time, when he was in politics, and we used to eat when confortable with or without him, no problem. This kind of things makes me always want to scream) Anyway,  my husband told me that the whole thing is a bit silly: doctor Alborino is a nice man, and  with a good reputation, and he was surely upset (my husband lost 15 kg, more than 30 pound, and has kept them off ), but paying for a mystery…. I was surely even more upset ( almost 50$ every time - not peanuts!).

If starving is not a solution, kill myself with sports is (at least, going harder) . So I’m going to my tae bo class, on DVD ( And Billy Blanks looks a bit silly too…) After all, I survived the Halloween week end and the heavy dinner (beans and chickpeas soup with pork ribs) that usually goes with it.

Hey, next time I write, you’ll probably have a new President …