I’m not back in work for ten days (*stumbles for joy*).
I’m useless with time. I can sit/lie/sprawl on the sofa for hours on end, waste entire days contemplating hoovering the house and generally loll about doing nothing much apart from de-fleaing the cat.
With this in mind, I have drawn up a timetable. In these ten days I have to: go to the doctor’s twice (thyroid), write two 2.000 word essays, write a collection of short stories totalling 3,000 words, edit my blog ready for publishing, stop shoving dust balls under the rugs and hoover the house, finish Christmas shopping, clear all the leaves from the garden and make a banana cake.
Sadly, I’m useless at timetables. I work far better under pressure, and with the lure of downloading addictive trash TV, I will have to be strict with myself. And this is where I come unstuck.
I’m toying with the idea of the donkey and stick. Maybe I should hold off that first cup of wondrous coffee until I at least write one tiny paragraph of an essay. Or until I pick up the hoover. But I tried that before. I simply opened the coffee jar and inhaled deeply then picked the blasted hoover up and half-heartedly sucked up the bits of cat food around the bowls. Exhausting. And Housewives of Somewhere or Other was ready to watch and calling to me.
So I’m a little bit anxious about the days stretching ahead in front of me, but when I think back to my last day in work, today, I’m kind of relived to have a little break.
The Boss thought it would be hilarious to play the Christmas radio station. I endured five hours of back-to-back Christmas hits, with his favourites turned up loud. By the end of the day I was a gibbering wreck, with trumpets, drummer boys and halls decked with holly careering around my brain.
My first proper day off is tomorrow. I will visit the Uni library, take The Teenager to rugby training, make a banana cake and dust the telly. In readiness.