I can’t be the only one… surely?

Does this sound familiar to any of you? At about half 1 this afternoon I look in dismay around me. I have started and not finished the following; cleaning out the chickens, clearing out under the stairs, putting out washing, putting away washing, washing up, making a cup of tea, texting my daughter, replying to an email.. the list could probably go on for a while. I am fully aware that this is not a healthy way to go about life. In fact for someone who is only too conscious of how stressy she is, you’d think she’d learn. I read only recently about how ineffective multi-tasking is and that if you just concentrate on the one task, you do it better.. blah blah blah.. According to the American Psychological Society, multi-tasking is like overloading an air traffic control station.. and my air traffic control station is doomed… plus there is a ‘switch’ cost – you lose time every time you refocus on the previous task in hand. So I am actually wasting my time rather than being the super efficient domestic goddess I am aspiring to be.

So why do I do it? I really struggle to know. I think maybe it’s because I am hoping to get so much done in the day that I get distracted and think ‘oh, I’ll just pop the washing one .. oooh there’s dirt I’ll grab a baby wipe and clean it… ah! hang on a minute I meant to put the bin…. damn it.. those weeds need pulling out’..  A bit like Dory I guess.. but involving less water.

Years ago with my eldest child, I was breastfeeding from one side, talking on the phone and expressing milk from the other side. I personally thought that this meant I was a milk churning superhero. Apparently not. Both the bottle, the baby and telephone were all missing out on ‘quality time’.

Another thing I noticed today was that despite only wanting to do the one thing (ALL I wanted to do was make some very useful but probably never to be used key ring purses for gifts… basically a chance for me to use my sewing machine. Never an enjoyable experience as I oscillate between ‘Hallelujah! I’m the Queen of the Machine!’ as it glides seamlessly (ha) along the fabric and  then ‘you fucking bastard shitbag cockwomble’ as the needle goes mental, picking up threads from the bobbin like a woodpecker on speed. Only I didn’t get to do this one thing. Simply because my children are arses. Lovely arses but arses. The youngest has adopted a right stroppy attitude towards doing anything you ask him and the middle one should have been named Tornedo due to the effect he has when he is.. well.. awake. In fact if I were to liken my children to the elements, I’d go for Hazy (EO walks around like she is stoned all day), Tornedo (destruction follows in his wake) and Sunny With a Bit of Thunder (LO is like Jekyll and Hyde). I literally am considering recording my voice and then just pressing play for a 12 hour playback… ‘put your shoes away’, ‘if it’s daytime, you don’t need the light on’, take your cup out’, ‘tidy your room’, ‘flush the toilet’, ‘flush the toilet’, ‘flush the toilet’, ‘have you brushed your teeth/washed your hands/wiped your arse’.

And the sewing machine could be likened to a siren as she sits in her hard case, calling to me, singing to me, lulling me in to the false sense of security that I could actually make an actual, fully functioning thing.. only it wouldn’t take the 30 minutes that the annoyingly optimistic pattern writer has given the project. No it will take fucking hours. Countless bobbins being rethreaded and tension altered.. needles discarded as they break because I am using the wrong combination of thread and fabric.. Oh My God I have had a HA HAAAH! moment. THAT’S why I have done everything else.. multitasking furiously like a women possessed.. it was to save my sanity.. because at least this way I can feel chuffed as Betty and Florence cluck their way around the garden knowing that that they can shit in a clean nesting box tonight (I know they shouldn’t be sleeping in their nesting boxes but you try telling them that).. and I can smile contentedly as the washing dries in the BBQ coal saturated air and I will drink that cup of tea at some point.. oops no I won’t.. already poured a G&T… Ah well… there’s always tomorrow.




Being a Fire Crabon

I once lived for a short time with a guy who did astrology professionally and he either wrote for a magazine or did a radio show or something, I can’t remember exactly.. and he asked me when I was born. So I told him “22nd July 1976.. about midday (my mum thinks)” and he looked aghast and then laughed and said, “my god you poor thing”.

It transpires that with a mixture of Eastern  and Western astrology interpretations, my life is fucked. Crab crossed with Fire Dragon apparently… Fire Crabon?  Ruled by the moon, a combination of fierce fire and turbulent waters, it would appear that I am doomed to live a life of ups and downs. He said that I was incredibly emotional (check) and could fly into a rage one moment and then be racked with guilt and cry inconsolably (check again). He said that I had the most difficult combinations of the whole astrological system (anyone reading this who is astrology minded, please do not bombard me with messages concerning all of the misinformation I may have written – I can’t remember it all exactly – probably another side effect of being a fucked up astrological nightmare 😉 ).

I reckon my friends and family will echo all of this. I am often accused of having too much drama in my life and taking on too much. In the main I agree with this but the problem is that it is all I know. I appear to lack the ability to be still. I think this is due to the stillness creating a terror inside that I don’t know how to accept, so I break down mentally instead.

On the plus side, it means I achieve things. I have just done really well (image of trumpet to be inserted here) in my Access to Health Studies course and after managing to self teach GCSE maths to get the grade C that I needed to enter uni, I am finally tootling off to get a ‘career’.

And on the negative side it also means I fill up my life with shit. Some nice shit like fluffy animals. And some bad shit. Like their shit.

So my promise to myself is the following; to clear the clutter in my life, both physically and mentally. I will keep the shitty animals but I will try and clear the other crap. I will think before I roar. I will try and do all the things that make me feel good about myself, like meditating and pilates and being nice to people that I love as opposed to screaming wildly like a demented banshee. I shall really try and stop the rollercoaster and aim for a milkfloat instead. I am going to continue to lose weight, and aim for lean arms (I really want lean arms).

Despite being told that I only look like I am in my mid-20’s again today.. I AM actually 40 to all you non-believers 😉 (guffaw guffaw) and it’s time I watered the little me to grow up into the bigger me that I yearn to be.

However, should a moaning hissy fit start to emerge or a newly acquired kitten poke its head out of the neck of my jumper, please don’t rush to judge.. after all it’s in me stars 😉 

fire dragon

(Disclaimer: In the meantime I am going to go and pour myself a glass of wine, fight my dog over whatever she is currently consuming (remote control/phone lead/cat) and watch some mind-numbing bollocks like Eastenders on the tele… small steps people, small steps).