Today was just plain weird.

I drove Alex to a small craft fair in Blarney and then had the rest of the day to myself until I collected him at 4 pm.  And it was one of those days where I sank down into an intolerable state of unease.

I had a scone and peppermint tea in the hotel and read the Sunday Times supplements – something I usually adore.  But the sun was shining outside and I had a million other things I could/should be doing and the hour or so relaxing in the lounge ironically set me right on edge.

I needed to move and do something, anything, to shift the sticky uncomfortable cloud that was invading my being and making me feel so out of sorts.

But what to do?  I came home and had an early healthy lunch, drank more herbal teas, watched a couple youtube videos, did some laundry.

But the mood wouldn’t budge.  I knew one thing that would make things feel better but it was the one thing I was trying to avoid.  Finally, I got back in the car about to head out and instead sat there reading a (rather uninspiring) novel I got in the charity shop two days ago.  (I find sitting in my car a weirdly pleasant place to sit and read or journal.)

And then my brother called over to collect his little white ball of fur who we’d been dog-sitting since Thursday.  We drank tea on the patio in the warm Irish sunshine, analyzing the concert he conducted last night (that was partly responsible for yesterday’s late and hurried scribble).

Finally he left and I was left with my icky mood.  Enough!  I was going to do it and sod my healthy notions.

I zipped over to Ballincollig in my little Yaris, found an ideal parking spot and tried to reconsider my plan.  Did I really want to potentially ruin my hard-earned work these past few days?

A light-bulb went off in my head; Easons was across the road with so many delicious novels including one by an author I’ve been itching to read.  I could buy myself a really good book and lose my mood in the pages within.

A niggling voice in the background muttered something but I ignored it.  Yes, a new book would definitely make me feel better, at least for a little while, with the happy thrill of retail therapy and the added bonus of not burning a hole in my credit card while simultaneously providing me with a magical fictional world to escape to.

I bought the book I’d wanted and another by an author I already know and love and then realized the niggling voice I’d been ignoring had been right; the book wasn’t going to suffice.  The only thing that was genuinely going to make me feel better was the thick, crispy, chocolatey rice crispy square from the local cafe that had been on my mind from the moment I discovered my dissatisfied mood.

So I threw my sugar-fast in the bin (along with the uninspiring charity-shop novel) and minutes later I was sat in my car eating the most delicious thing I’ve possibly ever tasted and dipping into a novel I haven’t been able to put down for longer than ten minutes so far.

Do I regret giving in to the temptation of sugar?  A little.  But it was damn tasty and it was literally the only thing that was going to make me feel better.

I can empathize whole-heartedly and completely with anyone that suffers from addiction; if you’re feeling that uncomfortable in yourself – outside of any nasty physical symptoms – and you know your addictive substance is the one thing that’s going to make you feel better, how is a bit of willpower ever going to win the battle??

On a lighter note, I feel a lot better now.  I have also eaten even more chocolate this evening and had a gin and tonic and read nearly two hundred pages of my new novel.  Maybe sometimes all you need is to give in to the moment and indulge.  And then again, maybe addiction is far too complex and profound to be covered in a seven hundred word daily scribble…

Ciao darlings!

Lizzie xxxx