October 3rd 2016
Today my watch vibrated and told me to move. I got a new running watch for my birthday, and if I’m sat still for too long it vibrates and dings and tells me I need to get up and go for a walk. It also displays my phone notifications on a 2cmx2cm screen that feels like reading text messages on a tamagotchi.
I got it because it looks more like a watch than a running watch, and I like it as a watch so far. As a running watch it will take some getting used to. I kept trying to shake it off my wrist during my monthly 5k race at lunch today, and I forgot to make the distance display in kilometres, so I had to keep doing maths to find out what kind of pace I was running at.
Now, is it multiply by 1.6 or divide by 1.6?
In a segue so good it’s almost as if I planned it, my watch telling me to move relates to more than just my fitness and wellbeing. It relates to my entire life, at the moment.
On Saturday Alice and I are moving into our very first house together. As such, today we had to finalise some essentials like 1) buying a mattress and 2) buying some internet.
It turns out we’re going to be without internet for the first week of living there, so we’ll probably just have to talk to each other or something to entertain ourselves.
Everything is just about sorted now, except for the fact that I’ve not packed a single thing. The entire sum of my worldly possessions needs to be transported across a county border in 4 days times, and I’ve not so much as packed a pair of socks.
I think I’m vastly under rating the scale of that operation, to be honest.
I should probably start packing, come to think of it. Because I move out in four days. Four days? That’s mad. It might even be three days. I technically get a day off work for moving in, so if I asked for that I could even move in on Friday. Which I’m definitely not prepared for.
It just doesn’t seem real, or possible. But I guess it is. And I guess I’ve got some growing up to do.
Moving into our own house…
Until tomorrow, who’d’ve thought it?