Not such a strange day today. Decided last night to copy my diary onto an online blog. I got the idea from Mr E. Something he said to me last night in the throes of sexy texts reminded me of a book I was reading a while ago. Belle De Jour’s diaries were online. She was a high class London call girl with a penchant for sexy undies. One of Mr E’s texts last night was almost right out of one of Belle’s pages. I remembered the way that reading that passage made me feel at the time.  It was a strangely sexy passage….

So anyways, that reminded me of Belle’s book, which in turn reminded me that I could actually transfer my diary online. Sounded like a fab idea so here we are. Since everyone in my diary would now need a pseudonym, I offered Mr E the chance to suggest one for himself. He didn’t come up with one that I liked as much as Mr E. So he remains Mr E. I did want to change it because I have changed Mr Ex’s name recently, when he became an ex, and I thought Mr E was too similar to Mr Ex, but I think it’s all good, for now anyway.

Later on, I told Mr E what I wanted the pseudonym for. He asked if he would get the chance to read what I write. I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Things with Mr E seem precarious at the best of times without him reading all my thoughts aswell. Then again, I think that there is nothing that goes through my mind that I don’t tell him about, or that I wouldn’t tell him about simply because I ramble on and on all the time. Tis weird!

I told him he would have to promise not to hold anything against me that he read. He asked if I would hold it against him if he told me I had a beautiful body. It was at the moment that I read that that I realised for one of the few times ever I was speechless, and couldn’t think of anything to say. I soon got a grip and responded saying I would only hold it against him if he wanted me to. I stopped to think for a second and asked him if he was OK. Mr E is never really nasty to me, but similarly, he is never really this nice to me either. He assured me that he was OK, and was just being nice to me because I’d asked him to be nice in return for showing him pictures of my new undies that I bought yesterday. following that logic, I won’t get the undies for a few days so I’m wondering if he’ll keep it up or get bored and return to his regularly scheduled programming.. time will tell!

I went for a hell of a good run earlier. Got to the gym at about 7.30 and just ran and ran. There were five guys there and the super skinny girl who to be honest, looks to me like she could do with a trip to McDonalds rather than the gym. James Blond was there, who is quite delicious and seems quite sweet. Equilateral was also in inattandance. Equilateral is also a little delicious, but looking at him pumping eye-ron, he looks like the type who knows he is delicious although I note that he avoids eye contact so I glean from that that he is also quite shy. 

When I am at the gym, I imagine somehow that the people there are thinking that I can’t run as fast or for as long as they can. I know they’re not really but it really helps with motivation. I was listening to songs that were different from my usual playlist. I listened a few times to a few songs from Moral Kombat. My mind wandered away from me and I imagined that I was kicking these lads asses – Trinity from the Matrix, or Buffy the Vampire Slayer stylee. Why I imagine kicking lumps out of men I don’t know is a mystery to me. Maybe it’s some pent up aggression towards men!

The nice man got on the treadmill next to me. I have watched him building up his time and his speed every day and he can now run at a very respectable pace. He always asks how I am and how far I’m planning to run that day. He got on the treadmill 15 minutes after me, and got off 15 minutes later, never having gone faster than me. When he got off the treadmill he was breathless and I was still running away at a gradient. I smiled to him and gave him a thumbs up as is usual to let him know that someone has noticed how well he is coming along.

When his back was turned I smiled a little smile to myself. He is coming along great guns but I can still outrun him.. for now. As The Nice Man settled into some time on the rowing machine I thought to myself.. how pathetic is it that I’m thinking “I owned his ass” about a nice man who is easily 55?!  

Did 5km comfortably until I noticed a searing pain in my left shoulder. It absolutely killed. Managed another km before I thought my arm was ready to drop off. Thought about running even further anyways until the pain subsided, but remembered something someone told me recently about being reckless and putting myself in jeopardy for my running.

Got off the treadmill in agony. Went to pick up my gym bag which is very small and only contains my iPod, phone, towel and purse and dropped it because the weight of it in my hand made the pain in my shoulder worsen.

Mr Ex picked me up from the gym and I told him I fancied a chinese so asked him to take me to the amazing chinese. We had to call at Tesco first, and he went in with Spongebob whilst I sat outside in the car. I struggled to get my iPod out from my gym bag and as I was plugging it into the car stereo, there was a knock at my door and I got out of the car. It was three very nice people very interested in Mr Ex’s car.

Now I’m not bothered in the slightest about cars, I know next to nothing about them, and yet I can tell a total stranger that that car is a 1.4 automatic, and that it does 40-45 MPG which is quite respectable for an automatic, and that it sits on 17inch alloy wheels, and that it is the special edition with the bodykit, spoiler and chrome that was added by the customisation arm of Nissan. I can also go into some details about the pearl paintwork, all the while finding it strange that complete strangers lap that shit up, and continue to ask me about it.

But, then comes the beaut of the question that every bugger asks me. Much as I love that car, I hate being left alone in or around it. So here’s the question – “What’s it like to drive?” Now, I understand why someone would ask that question – I do, believe me, and I know that I don’t wear a sign that says “I don’t drive, I don’t even have a licence” but, I mean come on – they knocked on the PASSENGER side door. In the beginning I would politely explain that I don’t know, since I have never driven it, but I got tired of that, and now just say, ”It’s alright, you know – but it was designed for inner city, stop-start driving, rather than motorway driving, so it’s not the fastest” They always seem more satisfied with that answer rather than the “I don’t drive, mate” response. 

So I was there in agony, stinking after a 6km run, with a shoulder that felt like it was going to drop off, hungry and waiting for my sweet and sour fish, stood by the car, waiting for Mr Ex to return and save me. He took longer than expected and the fruitcakes had left by then, I struggled back into the car.

We headed straight to pick up the takeaway, and again Mr Ex went in whilst I stayed in the car – I don’t think I could have got out of the car if I’d tried.

I lay back in my seat listening to some music and saw the collection of idiots stood outside the chinese looking at the car. I saw them out of the corner out of my eye walking up and down the car, I watched them in the wing mirror when one of them put a hand up to the back window to try and see through the tint. I glanced at the locks and reassured myself that the car was locked up tight with myself and Squarepants inside, and closed my eyes and tried to breathe through the agony in my shoulder.

I was not getting out of the car to tell anyone about the flippin’ fuel consumption. I needed to compose myself so that I didn’t look vulnerable when Mr Ex came back. When we got back to the house he offered to help me put my dinner on a plate, and to help me take my laptop upstairs, I politely refused.      

Now, a few hours later, I am feeling decidedly sorry for myself. Shoulder really really hurts Hopefully it will feel better in the morning   I want to go shopping tomorrow, and typing tonight with one hand is bad enough, without also going shopping tomorrow and having to not buy stuff because I can’t carry it How would I survive?! Perhaps this is karma coming to get me for owning The Nice Man’s ass?!