Fact: I've spent 32 out of the last 42 days away.
I find myself seated at the writing desk in my hotel room, frazzled from flipping through the room service menu, sick in the stomach from the thought of another 14 hours in a dark studio.
The amazing breakfast spread at The Metropolitan has lost its splendour, and now that my hairband fad is over I find little left to keep me excited.
It's not so much being away that bothers me;
I've now become quite good at speed packing and knowing how much groceries to pick up in between trips (the trick is buy nothing unless on impulse, to be consumed immediately). And oh, thank goodness for online banking.
But it's the effort of trying to reconnect that I find tough.

Fact: Of late I've struggled with self restraint.
From the black Dries Van Noten cocktail dress I don't need, and grey patent pumps that pinch my toes, to the extra serves of coconut ice-cream, not to mention the cigarettes.
This needs to end. Pronto.

Fact: Christmas is 4 weeks away.
I'm missing a finalised guestlist, menu, and venue for my dinner party. I haven't written up my shopping list. Nor have I figured out what to bring to the boyfriend's family for Christmas lunch (first meeting, no pressure really!).

Fact: I'm craving for normality.
The weekend routine of yoga/ family lunches/ coffee with girlfriends/ hours by the pool/ grocery shopping/ watching dvds/ lazy home-cooked dinner has never seemed so appealing. Soon, I keep hearing myself say. Soon.