Not enough time.

29 Oct

The clocks go back in a couple of hours, and effectively, for tomorrow at least, it’ll feel that there are more hours in the day.  I have at least twenty things marked ‘urgent’ whirring around my head at the moment, so this should prove invaluable. Top of my list, for some bizarre reason, is the handwashing. Possibly because we’ve all run out of warm clothes and the stack has got so large it’s taken over the bookshelf. Second is to buy a washing machine that has a handwash cycle.(I am a feminist and that is why I want this amazing machine and I’d be over the moon if I received it for Christmas)

. Third is the DVLA form because I changed address more than a year ago now and  haven’t informed them. Forth is getting a coil fitted, because my husband and I certainly don’t want any more children and condoms are fiddly. Fifth is a tie between reading a book about the holocaust and ordering the mirror for the bathroom that has been half finished for months. And sixth (which should probably actually be first) is checking my bank balance to see if I’ve got enough money to do any of these things. That is why the handwashing is at the top of my list. Because it doesn’t require me to look at my bank balance and scare me into drawing up that budget that I’ve been meaning to do for the past three years.

I’ve only reached number six on my mental to do list, but I could go up hundred without drawing for breath. Somewhere in the middle would be doing something charitable like dropping the bags of clothes to the charity shop that have been lying in the middle of my bedroom floor for 6 months now. It was summer when I sorted them. Now it’s Autumn and they’re fussy in charity shops (something to do with Mary Portas?), so best wait until the season’s right which is looking like next year.

I reckon when I have a gravestone made it should say Disorganised Procrastinator on it. I would challenge anyone to be more rubbish at keeping any order in their lives than me. This morning I stood, as I always do, at the bottom of the stairs, three shoeless children at my feet shouting “Where are your shoes? Where are my shoes? Oh god, we’re late. We’re late.” Shoes found I then move on to something else I’ve lost. “My keys? Where are my keys and where is your book bag?”

The past week has seen me rising at the god awful hour of 5.30am with a hyperactive baby. With three hours to spare until the walk to school, you’d think I’d be able to organise the children and myself. Sadly not.  Having reviewed the situation on timeless occasions I have concluded that I’ve always been one of those people that would be a perfect case study for serious mental health issues. The clinical psychiatrist, diagnosing my problems and trying to get to the root of my ‘issues’ would just have to take a look at the stack of paperwork by my computer, my ‘sock bag’ (up to a hundred odd socks that I randomly pile into a bag after each wash then empty out every morning in the vague hope that there will be a matching pair) or my make up drawer (a chest big enough for winter coats that houses all the cosmetics I’ve acquired over the years, including verucca cream, out of date condoms, plaster wrappers and bits of my hair.) Sorting that is probably about number twenty on my list.

Anyway, I’m going to buy that book from Amazon called ‘Rework – Change The Way You Work Forever.’ I found out about it in an interview with Bryce Dallas Howard (yes, finding out who the hell she was was also pressing) and it’s her bible apparently. That book of course will be my answer to everything if I ever get around to reading it, but first I have to decide where to rank it on my to do list.


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