I remember Jillian Michaels screaming Don’t phone it in! during in her 30 Day Shred DVD, probably as I slumped on the couch pouring water over my head. I haven’t done that DVD in yonks but that phrase stayed with me. Don’t phone it in. Don’t half arse it.
Yet here I am at 11.30pm with my Blogging Pact deadline closing in, the Conservative Party oh so close to collecting £5 from me. I have no excuse, just bloody disorganised. Can I blame The Mothership’s impending arrival? Not really. She is low maintenance these days and no longer says things like, “When was the last time you cleaned underneath the oven?”.
Anyway, I have an action plan for next week. I’m putting down the phone.
By the way, does anyone watch The Americans? I don’t know anyone else who watches it so I’m dying to talk about it. It’s the 1980s, Matthew Rhys and Keri Russell are KGB agents undercover in the US. There’s gazillions of terrible wigs and Keri Russell is so badass that Felicity is forever banished from my mind.
Here is Neighbour Cat. Her latest thing is dropping by to Sleep On A Bag. A wheelie suitcase, my handbag, my gym bag, and here upon a pile of grocery bags. She just curls up then shall not be moved for three hours.
