It seems that after only a month of being committed to feeding this blog I love more regularly, I have begun to struggle with time management. Through no fault of mine, life has become over the top crazy. My washing machine blew up, kids got vomiting and diarrhoea, the demented 9 yr old dog keeps escaping and I have started doing an increase of hours at work. Oh, and I must not forget the already 6 hours + a week I sit in a car picking up/dropping off kids regardless of any other happenings. This all means that one crappy event can throw my delicately balanced routine off the Urangan pier.
‘Thrown off the pier’ is the polite way I can describe my weeks just lately. Profanities often slip past my lips and others frown and tell me to stop swearing. In all honesty, some days it is all I have left to show I have some ownership over my own life. You know like to deliberately swear, instead of driving people around, cooking, cleaning, playing nurse mum and generally fixing shit.
In an act of kindness one day last week, my husband came home brandishing a gift for me. I was knee deep in kids homework, cooking dinner and supervising one small child to not vomit anywhere but in the toilet, when he handed over Mia Freedman’s new book, Work Strife Balance with a grin on his face like he had found the key to my puzzle.
For a second I thought the same. Like any book that looks like it might save my arse, and teach me a new skill to better me, I took off at first opportunity to start reading. Sadly, due to vomiting supervision and then multiple interruptions, I had to put the book down barely one chapter in.
When I did get back to it this weekend, it seemed that I didn’t deserve any quiet time then either, despite me being their most loyal servant and deserving a break.
I did read enough to realise a couple of things though. Firstly, I am not alone. Secondly, this book won’t help me fix my situation unless I personally stop trying to be society’s cleverly created mythical creature ‘The Successful Woman That Can Have It All’.
The creature that coaches and entrepreneur’s sprook as being achievable if we put down the hard work and dedication.
My arse it is.
Actually, I should say my heavily chewed arse because if it were full and ample it would mean I would actually have time to exercise it and look after it, to which I don’t. And I am smart and work hard.
To say that I am feeling rather exhausted this evening as I write this is an understatement. You might be able to tell by the snippy nature of this post.
There is washing everywhere and I am yet to decide what to do about replacing the broken washer. My much-loved job needs lots of attention right now, which excites me but also leaves me incredibly frustrated when everything and everyone else requires a small piece of my arse.
I told one of my close friend’s tonight I was going to run away and live with a dog called Fuck Off.
That is how desperate I am feeling. I love my family but my goodness, how much can one woman do before she breaks?