Let’s have a change of tune and turn the tables on this mid-week mental abortion.

There’s one thing I know for sure, this is definitely a cookie for breakfast kind of day.

Just keep calm, and wear your fucking mask.

I'm not saying it doesn't suck, it abso-fucking-lutely sucks. But to a certain extent, we choose how much it sucks.

Find some meaning in the madness every day, or, if it's not immediately visible, fucking make it up.

If you spent Lockdown #1 smoking crack and watching Housewives of Beverley Hills, well, this is your chance to not do that. Or, to watch the second season.

Turns out that people love strong and passionate, until they realise that strength and passion can also be used against them.

The feeling of losing control of any important aspect of your life is like the plug being wrenched out and being left naked and cold in the bottom of the tub, wondering whether you should use your wash cloth to cover your boobs or vagina.

Nothing you do matters. I’m not being an asshole, I’m in the same boat, melting into a cold, muddy puddle with all the other #instagood ‘snowflakes’.

But does she fuck?

This comment and others like it are regularly showcased by popular social media page @you.look.like.a.man (YLLAM), using cleverly juxtaposed imagery of landscapes and flowers to directly contrast the ugly nature of the comments. The page features ‘trolls’ on accounts of women in strength sports, from elite to civilian, and brings to light the real problem of online bullying directed at women in the athletic space.

We are the same people who post booty burn workouts on Instagram and promote magazines with photos of Ashy Bines on the cover. We plug juice cleanses, keto, thigh gaps, and whatever is the fucking flavour of the #healthandfitness month. I don’t know what that makes us, but it is certainly not allied health professionals.

It’s so easy to write off an unsuccessful relationship, friendship, or job as being just a mistake and charging the fuck back onto Seek, Tinder, Grinder, or possibly Gumtree.

Be the resilient motherfucker who emerges from #iso a stronger and better human.

I think that opinions which minimise sexual violence are, for want of a better word, fucked, and that if everyone thought it was a waste of energy to correct this misinformed bullshit then we as a society are in a pretty dark place.

Readily available results are easy, sure, but they’re fleeting as fuck. Jack and Rose had a beautiful fucking romance, for like two days. Then one of them died and the other one got all old and stupid and threw away a priceless heirloom just to prove some weird point, which still annoys me every time I watch it.

Am I disciplined? Am I courageous? Am I authentic? These are the things I WANT to be, and the things I want to be seen as, but are they an actual facet of me or just meaningless hashtags I add to my fucking Instagram posts along with #chickswholift and #chickswithtattoos?

Post-competition my brain is all cracked open and the raw, gooey feelings are just waiting to be dissected and analysed, so let's fucking go.

So maybe its time to actually apply some of this mindgold I’ve been drilling into my brain for the past year or so rather than wallowing in irrelevant BS and reverting to old habits to conceal hurt around some very fucking expired events experienced by someone who isn’t really me anymore.

I’m of the strong fucking opinion that the only failure is to be in the same place in your life a year later, in terms of personal growth and just general badass-ery.

It’s fucking hard to accept that sometimes our 100% isn’t enough to attain the outcome we so badly want, so we search for excuses that offer us reassurance, when in reality shit just happens to everyone and at random, so it’s kind of up to you if you want to lose the absolute plot over it, or just move the fuck on to your clean and jerks and nail them.