All eleven of you who visit my blog, you may have noticed that I'm back to my evil ways : I haven't been updating. When I don't update, it means I'm super busy. If you know me though, being "super-busy" really means I have a couple of things to do but have failed to manage my time. My approach to deadlines is to lepak, sit on my butt, shop, drink coffee, gossip, whatever, until the deadline looms large and stares down at me, sweat dripping from its ugly forehead. Then I panic and get to work.

When this happens, I run around like a headless chicken for a while, but I usually do manage to complete my tasks, give or take a few days after its due. The relief of getting a job done would be almost post-coital, it puts me in a celebratory mood. And a celebration, is always a good excuse to eat.

For the past week, Suhaimi and I have been on this roller coaster of gluttony and guilt : eat, eat and eat, feel really shitty, vow to diet, and then say, starting tomorrow. Alas, tomorrow never arrives. Yesterday, I had pasta, a salad, an afogato with white chocolate ice-cream, and a slice of nutty cheesecake. Then Suhaimi decided it was a good idea to round that off with a medium sized pizza. Just a few days before, we went to Marche and ordered everything except the cow at the front door. And on Sunday, after an exhausting video shoot, the both of us went on a mad eating spree at a Japanese restaurant - give me the name of any marine animal, and we probably would have had it for dinner on that day.

Of course, all this orgiastic consumption will have to be paid for. When I take off my clothes, I already resemble a pale blimp with breasts. My thighs stick together, and the cellulite under my flabby arms have cellulite. As I was preparing to take a shower last night, Aiysha came in, saw my burgeoning belly with eyes as wide as saucers. "Oh Mummy", she gasped, " you're... fat!"

Trust your children to tell you the truth. My husband never would, either because he's so much in love, he sees me through rose tinted glasses, or because he's not usually suicidal.

Next Friday, I'm hosting TV3's live coverage of Budget 2006. There'll be a roundtable discussion with Datuk Dr Zainal Aznam, the astute economist; and Datuk Salleh Majid, the former head of KLSE who will not mince his words. On top of that, there will be a live audience - economic undergrads from three universities, plus their lecturers. It'll be a roomful of clever people, talking about serious things like the next engine of growth or the new buzzword, modal insan. I haven't read the daily newspapers, let alone do any research, so I have no idea what this year's Budget speech will be all about. It's possible that I'll make a total fool of myself by being absolutely clueless. But you know, that doesn't worry me as much as the thought of coming on air, looking like a blimp with breasts. I worry that it'll be my first appearance after so many years, and people would think I'm the newest member of the Weather Girls. I can just imagine what the make-up artists at TV3 would say when they see me : no Sultan of Brunei will marry you now.

I have to lose weight. I'll have to stop eating and start going back to gym. I must, I must, I must.

Tomorrow.

mokciknab muttered at 11:35 am ~ ~