Well, the whole do something Nice for myself every day kind of fell by the wayside (as I am sure that you knew it would).

Wracking the brain to think of Nice Things during the week, when one is all tired and cross from dealing with the idiots, is not conducive to good mental health.

But, dear reader, you will be pleased to hear that my Mental Health has improved, and I give all credit to the oh-so clichéd … exercise.

No, really! As horrifying as it is, dragging myself (and hating it) to the gym every day definitely has a cheerifying effect (and my calves and thighs are killerly muscular and I get to watch Murder She Wrote). And I feel that it is no small co-incidence that when I had the crying episode I had not exercised for some time (what with being in Melbourne and snowed under with work &etc).

This is not to say that I do not need to visit the MHP (because I really, really do), but things appear to be much more tolerable at the moment.

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