That’s a lovely tub mate… I’m slightly envious if I’m being honest.
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We moved away from bags for our creatine to tubs due to how serious we take our health. Our protein is in (large) bags.
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Premium grade and science backed.
Unreal
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Easy mixing too if you want to mix it into a bit of cocaine and sell on….
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Lads with fancy tubs but without the science backed claims are at nothing
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I use their protein. Always better priced than their competitors and flavours are excellent.
Just pretend you are someone else and you’re somewhere else.
Fuck sake.
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Timed my tablets wrong there and got sick everywhere. Stomach is in shit. At least I’ve the whole night to recover before I do anything tomorrow
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Pitch meeting for brintelex:
“Ok so we’ve these depression tablets. They will destroy your stomach and your indigestion system, they’ll finish your libido, make sleep impossible and all round make you a little unstable.”
“But they’ll fix the depression?”
“Oh no”
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Dragging the cunting black dog around again.
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It’s that time of the year unfortunately… mind yourself!!
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Keep the head up mate.
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Be kind to yourself.
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Heard a bunch of fellas say the same thing in the last week. That time of year. Can feel it myself. It passes. Darkness, cold and miserable pre Christmas period. The rest over the holidays and a change of routine, and more social time will do everyone the world the good. Well, almost everyone.
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If possible could you please describe the way you’re feeling… if not just tell me to go fuck myself!
I too like November. I hate September, October and most of December, especially the week before Christmas.
November is the best month for gigs, for pints and often one of the better ones for sport.
There’s a comfort in being into winter with no pretence but Christmas is still far enough away for comfort.
Loving the light: Colm Keena on why November is his favourite month
I was obviously not the first person to think like this
Just shit. Empty. Can’t enjoy anything. Can’t sleep. Tired. Miserable. Finding simple things really difficult.
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“Everybody winters at one time or another; some winter over and over again.
Wintering is a season in the cold. It is a fallow period in life when you’re cut off from the world, feeling rejected, sidelined, blocked from progress, or cast into the role of an outsider. Perhaps it results from an illness or a life event such as a bereavement or the birth of a child; perhaps it comes from a humiliation or failure. Perhaps you’re in a period of transition and have temporarily fallen between two worlds. Some winterings creep on us slowly, accompanying the protracted death of a relationship, the gradual retching up of caring responsibilities as our parents age, the drip-drip-drip of lost confidence. Some are appallingly sudden, like discovering one day that your skills are considered obsolete, the company you worked for has gone bankrupt, or your partner is in love with someone new. However it arrives, wintering is usually involuntary, lonely, and deeply painful.
Yet it’s also inevitable. We like to imagine that it’s possible for life to be one eternal summer and that we have uniquely failed to achieve that for ourselves. We dream of an equatorial habitat, forever close to the sun, an endless, unvarying high season. But life’s not like that. Emotionally, we’re prone to stifling summers and low, dark winters, to sudden drops in temperature, to light and shade. Even if by some extraordinary stroke of self-control and good luck we were able to keep control of our own health and happiness for an entire lifetime, we still couldn’t avoid the winter. Our parents would age and die; our friends would undertake minor acts of betrayal; the machinations of the world would eventually weigh against us. Somewhere along the line, we would screw up. Winter would quietly roll in.”
Katherine May
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