Doing stuff and stuff

OPINION: I'm actually really busy, for once instead of saying I'm really busy, and then just hiding at home watching Outrageous Fortune and making and then absorbing bowl after bowl of guacamole, writes Sarah McCarthy in this week's Uptown Girl.

It's spring's fault. Everyone hibernates happily for a few months over winter eating nourishing stews (chips), reading Tolstoy (the Twilight saga for the second time and feeling dirty the whole time yet unable to stop) and making a quilt (making a mess in the spare room while looking for a pair of pants and then shutting the door forever). But then the blossoms come out and so do we, off to barbecues and play rehearsals and stuff.

I lie awake at night now grinding my teeth and worrying about what I've forgotten to do. And then thinking about the bottle of vodka stashed in the freezer and weighing up the pros and cons of having a decent snort and a ciggie at 3 in the morning. Staying in bed and worrying has won out so far, but I don't know how much longer I can hang on.

And any snatched moments of quiet time lead to guilty feelings that you could have been doing something else, like making important phone calls or cleaning out the fridge or sewing up the tragic hole in my new black pants (thanks to a tricksy little gymnastic move while getting in the car a week or so ago when I had to hop over a puddle to get in the passenger seat but also miss the rubble on the floor of the car at the same time. There was a terrible parpy rip noise and so I had to jump back out of the car and get changed. Late for work again).

I've always envied those people who are always on the run, who seem to be effortlessly busy and still able to squeeze in a facial, a run and some quality time with their elderly neighbour.

I suppose these people lie awake at night wondering what they need to do tomorrow, too, unless they are simply so exhausted that they sleep soundly until 5am when they tear back the curtains, greet the day with a bit of Yogalates and then whip up a batch of scones.

I was considering getting a personal assistant (never mind that I have been in tense negotiations with Mr mr about getting a cleaner for some time now he says go for it but I can't overcome my feeling of horror at having someone a) see the squalid state of my kitchen floors and b) pay someone to clean when I can just trick my mum to come around and do the luxing while I hide in the kitchen and make industrious scrubby noises with a Brillo pad) but then Mr mr claimed this morning he was my personal assistant after putting my cellphone in my handbag for me when we left the house.

What would I do without him, eh?

» Sarah McCarthy is a Southland Times staff member.

- © Fairfax NZ News

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