Given the standard 24-hour day I tend to, by distraction, discombobulation, digression, desertion and disaster, waste a good portion of the 16 odd hours I tend to spend awake. I’m just very good at being sidetracked…and delayed…and demanded elsewhere…and deplorably forgetful.
So, in all that, how do I do stuff at all?
I’d like to say, well, frankly I’d love to say, that is to say I’d be delighted to be able to say that I somehow, in some terribly heroic (or is that heroine-ic?) fashion, tend to overcome the daily mess of diversion above and routinely thump the living hell out of good portions of my to-do lists.
But…alas…I’d be lying through my teeth (which, if they were false, I’d probably forget to put in).
What tends to happen in truth is rather like what happens when one wants to eat lunch on the fly. You know how it goes. The old stomach is a rumbling, you’ve literally got a five second window to snatch a sandwich, but no time to eat it, and it’s a case of [eat] or [collapse unconscious on the carpet], so you decide to compromise.
‘Fine, you bastard, so I’ll eat on the go then.’ So you rush off to buy/make your food.
First comes the realisation ‘Oh, but the only thing I can eat this way would be a sandwich, nothing complicated either, or else as I grasp it off the plate to snare a bit, half the ingredients will topple to the ground or over my clothes and that’ll be ten minutes wasted cleaning’,
So, naturally, whether digging in the cupboards/fridge or fumbling through the often bewildering selection for sale we KISS (keep it simple stupid).
Once we have our simple sandwich of few ingredients, unlikely to cause untimely spillages thereby creating extra work in a time-sparse environment, we go about the attempt to eat it. Usually achieved by placing said sarnie on a prominent surface, neither too close to the ground, too high up, nor too close, or far away, from the various task locations and, in fly by snatches–rather like a piranha gobbling snippets of fin as it zooms past an unsuspecting goldfish–we begin to pluck away at the edges.
We call this the ‘bite size chunk’ rule.
Of course, no, I’m not talking about sandwiches–in case you’d forgotten…I almost did.
Indeed, whilst I do often eat in this fashion (deplorably enough, as it is not advised for proper digestion, nor indeed the maintenance of good health), I was speaking of racing around, rather like a headless member of the poultry family, doing snatches of each task on my, often rather extensive, to-do lists.
I admit it’s not entirely practical. But then, I do not claim to be a doyenne of time management, rather the opposite actually. Which is the whole (again, almost forgotten) point of this post.
Is there an opposite of doyenne? An antonym? Perhaps said antonym should be my name, with an extra helping of n and e? Because I really don’t know anyone, nor have ever come across evidence of anyone, quite as appallingly bad at managing that elusive 4th dimension of ours.
It’s not that I’m trying to be bad, either.
I really do make plentiful efforts to drag myself into some sort of form that might, from certain angles and under sympathetic lighting (a sort of philosophical soft focus), appear to be efficient. It just never really lasts that long, rather like my initial state is so chaotic as to be utterly resistant to form. This means that I’m often required to start again at the beginning, rather like Sisyphus on the mountain. But my rock, my burden, rather than being a punishment of the Gods, is nothing but a boulder formed of my own inadequacies.
It’s not that I want to be like this, you understand. I’m afraid I just haven’t the time to fix it.
Any and or all parts of this post may be deemed to have a somewhat satirical, nay even self-deprecating, tone, and are not to be taken as God’s own truth. Whilst said blog author is, undoubtedly, horrendous at 4th dimensional management, she is, rather than a self-pitying plonker, cheerfully unashamed of the fact. Unapologetically so.