I think about going to the gym.
I get up, dress for the gym, make a coffee and venture out into the street, gym bag in tow knowing that I'm late for the 9 am spin class.
I walk to the post office instead, picking up a parcel that could not be placed in the letterbox.
I walk to the gym, which is located at the nearest shopping centre.
Instead of going to the gym for some semblance of exercise, I go to the supermarket, pick up some eggs, smoked salmon, wholemeal English muffins and chilli jam.
This is called breakfast. Which I will cook in a few minutes when I walk home.
Over the tannoy, Sinead O'Connor is playing. Nothing Compares 2U. The Prince cover that got as much airplay as Coldplay, James Blunt and Adele used to get back in the 80s.
Since when do they play Sinead O'Connor over the tannoy at the shopping centre?
See, I have Sinead O'Connor days. And today is one of them. Today is not over - and it will remain for a bit.
Posting on facebook that it was a Sinead O'Connor type of day two friends commented.
The first, "What, you've shaved your head?"
Well, I haven't. I really hate the thought of losing my hair - my naked scalp would look like it has been attacked with barbed wire, criss-crossed with scars where I've had a multitude of cysts removed. I'd look like Travis Bickle's butch sister if I shaved my head.
The second, "You're denouncing the pope? Getting married and divorced in less than a month? Embracing your mental illness?"
Well, I never embraced the Pope, I've never been married and as for embracing my mental illness, I manage my low grade depression pretty well, but no - it's not that.
Well, it probably is a bit of the last. We're all a bit nuts - on these days - my Sinead O'Connor days, I seem to feel the world a little bit more clearly. When most of us can be aware of five (plus or minus two) things at any one time, I seem to be able to be aware of ten things at a time. The world appears in Panavision. Colours are sharper. Tastes are stronger. The merest breeze from a passing car is felt like a hurricane.
These are the days where I just want to stand in the sunshine, head back, eyes closed, feeling the rays on my face and the breeze in my hair, taking in the pure joy of the world.
These are the days where I wish I could play the guitar and sing about life with the passion of a banshee - like this...
These are the days when I wish I was able to live out the words of this song, to wander through life wearing a pair of old Doc Martens, a leather jacket, a slash of slut red lipstick and a devil may care grin.
Sinead O'Connor days are when the world just makes a little more sense than normal - when I can feel every molecule in my body and I wish to share the beauty and the passion and the pain that is life.
Like with this song.
For some reason, when I feel like this - which thankfully doesn't happen that often - on these days where I feel so quintessentially alive, I feel like I want to be able to sing like Sinead O'Connor.
Slightly barking, very left of centre, happy to hug the hell or kick the crap out of the world in no particular order, dancing to the beat of my own drum.
And it feels bloody marvellous.
A few hours on - the sensation has dulled a little. I'm dressed ready to go out to dinner with friends.
My poached eggs and smoked salmon on wholemeal English muffins, drizzled with chilli jam tasted AMAZING.
I've been to see Blarney and the boys, the Maow Maow using the opportunity to use me for a bath chair.
I've been for a shop and a coffee with Teddie and Jonella.
And I'm out to an amazing dinner at a restaurant with friends - which is most marvellous indeed.
I was described as a sensitive steamroller by a workmate the other day.
Sinead O'Connor is a bit of a sensitive steamroller.
Maybe, just maybe on these days I'm letting my very self come to the fore.