The art of the shoehorn

25 Aug

In my head I picture the three days of Bank Holiday weekend as an Excel spreadsheet (bear with me), with every half hour coloured either red – for ‘fun’ – or grey – for ‘admin’.  Homework is classified ‘admin’, since we would all rather not do it, but we have to.  Dog walking stands out, it’s in green, since while it has to be done we also rather enjoy it.

This mental structuring is the only possible way to make sure I get everything done that I need to, while still being able honestly to reply, when asked on Tuesday, ‘did you have a good weekend?’ with ‘yes, it was very relaxing’.  This morning, for instance, is grey and green.  There was a ‘situation’ with my body hair (that man on CBB, ‘The Situation’, had nothing on me when I woke up this morning, a mixture of forestry and mottled white hair and fading dye) which all needed to be tackled before 9am, running concurrently with L1’s near conquering of Charlotte’s Web, before a green cell appeared, indicative of the dog’s half-hour zoom round the block.  As I write, we’re at swimming so back in grey, although I’ve had a latte and there’s a brilliant BBQ on the horizon, so I have to confess, red is dawning.

If I compartmentalise like this I get to the end of a day thinking yes, that worked.  I had fun and all the rubbish isn’t piling up into an impenetrable slagheap at the end of Monday afternoon, which I dread, and which comes to life around Monday morning and chases me around the house, piling on its gloom and frankly ruining the ‘reds’.  That is not a good way to operate, I’ve found.

And as a side benefit, from this morning’s focus I am also fragrant (relatively speaking), shorn and properly shaded, which should make my presence around others during the ‘red’ parts of this weekend way more acceptable.  I do like to exercise a level of consideration to my fellows, you know.


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