I’m anaemic. No, I’m not a hypochondriac – which is what my manager said I was today. I’m genuinely tired, pooped, exhausted, cream-crackered, bloody knackered!!! I’m too tired to eat properly. Too tired to go the gym, to socialise or watch my favourite TV shows. Hell, I’m too tired for sex!

Let’s put this into perspective. My love life – or lack there of – has been as barren as the Sahara recently. (There are guys out there who like me but I’m not into them. You know how that goes…) And this week I’m being pursued by someone I ‘dated’ ever so briefly at the beginning of the year and I’ve had to turn him down not once but TWICE!!!! TWICE because I’m too tired to even think about doing an Olivia Newton-John and getting physical with anyone.
The problem is I’m doing too much. I’m working full-time – thank God ‘cos it pays my bills. I’m also training for the LA Marathon, which takes place in March 2008. I’m raising money for an AIDS charity so I’m fundraising too. So far that has involved creating and maintaining a blog site. Now I have to roll up my sleeves, knock on doors and harass friends, family and work colleagues for money. (Gosh, I feel like a US presidential candidate. I’ll be taking pictures with babies and old people next!

Add to that the fact that I’m not eating properly and you can see why I’m flagging. I live alone. I don’t see the point in cooking for one. Unfortunately, bowls of granola, fruit and the occasional Thai takeaway (even if I do have brown rice) do not provide me with enough iron. And as I am – according to the medical web sites – a “woman of childbearing age”, apparently it’s no surprise that I can’t keep my eyes open, let alone entertain the thought of nooky.

Something’s got to give. Hopefully, it won’t be me…

Cateyes, 31, Venice CA