Yesterday I was on the ball, I was all over the ball. I was underneath the bloody ball. I shifted mountains of paperwork and did things that I had long been dreading and putting to the bottom of the pile whilst shouting: ‘La la la, I can’t hear you,’ with fingers in my ears.
I even rang the Tax Office.
And. When I found out that the form that they needed me to fill in was difficult, difficult, lemon difficult, I didn’t shove it to the bottom of the new pile I had created out of the remains of the old pile and leave it for three months to marinade in tears of panic dropped gently into a soup of studied indifference. No. I actually knuckled down and filled the sodding thing in.
By the time bedtime rolled around I felt like a special efficiency ninja. I decided I would have a hat with a feather in, and a badge, and maybe an umbrella I could parade around with, brandishing it in the face of lesser mortals. All signs of my total brilliance in the face of chores.
I thought to myself, I thought: ‘Blimey, missis. If the week continues like this you will be totally prepared for all eventualities and that huge to do list might actually get done, you top banana, you.’
And then there was this morning.
This morning where I have mooched about the house, desultorily flicking a duster, wandering off to the computer and eating digestive biscuits as if they’re going out of fashion.
Trailing crumbs as I go.
If I had managed to get that hat with a feather in it, it would totally be drooping now. Probably into some soup, and ending up all matted and bedraggled and what not.
It seems I am unable to sustain core efficiency levels when it comes to jobs. I either do ‘all’ the jobs, or ‘none’ of the jobs. There is nothing in between.
Why? Why do I do this to myself? Why can I not be reasonably organised at a kind of medium level at all times, instead of either a Stepford Wife or a sloth with moss growing in its fur?
What is wrong with me?
I am always banging on to the children about how it is important to pace yourself, and do things little and often rather than all in one go, and yet it seems I am psychologically incapable of following my own advice. Including the bit about biscuits not being an acceptable breakfast.