Day 12

I think I've found my blogging mojo. *waves* to my stalkers - I know you're out there, reading but not commenting, and that's okay because I still feel your collective weight of expectation pressing down on my (slightly tender) shoulders. It's thanks to you guys that I dragged - and I mean draaaaaagggggged - myself back out of bed the other night when I realised that I was about to doze off without brushing my teeth. Wild horses could not have accomplished that feat two weeks ago.

And, it's thanks to you guys, that I spent early Friday morning hanging out about forty washer loads of clothing onto the line in the backyard, while the electric clothes dryer flirted, and sulked, and pleaded by turns with me to just give in and blitz the lot of it.

And I also owe most of the credit to you guys for my unbroken streak of tablet-taking, during which I have had so few mood swings I almost feel like a man. Amazing. If I start looking at catalogues of power tools and caring about the NRL scores, I may have to reconsider whether my dosage needs to be revised back down to 'whenever I think of it'.

But - we need to talk about the credit card. Somehow, instead of connecting with my inner scrooge and tightening the plastic belt, I have instead managed to be convinced of a dire need to spend an unspecified number of dollars on cleaning products from <<Enjo>>. Naughty. Smack my wrist. I'm like a monkey: if you wave shiny objects at me, I lunge at them; in this case the shiny objects just happen to be my kitchen and bathroom and car, after being thoroughly and chemically free Enjo-ed. Now as I see it, you as my voices of conscience need to decide either:

1. to collectively chip in and buy me every Enjo product under the sun

2. to convince me that buying Enjo products is not in fact a matter of supreme importance and whip me back into line

or

3. some other creative solution to the tension.

And.... go.

M xx