Sunday, 8 September 2013

Saturdays don't count

I forgot to say that the every day thing doesn't include Saturdays, since in an effort to preserve the carefree holiday feeling, I am supposed to be unplugging the router and observing a digital sabbath, in the manner of some burnt-out tech exec returning from a sweat lodge, circa 2011. It's not wholly successful yet (as in, I end up hiding in the loo furtively checking my email), but I do like the principle. Saturdays are usually a particularly dark time for my Social Media Envy Issues, when everyone seems to have an important or moving or funny piece in a broadsheet newspaper, or to be hanging out with their friends somewhere I would sell a kidney to be, or buying wonderful stuff, whilst I am sulking around the house in an ill-fitting bra and stained t-shirt, alternately huffing about how bored I am like an overgrown teenager and wondering why there are seven packets of spring onions in various stages of decomposition in the fridge or embarking on ludicrously rigid sock or stationery organisation projects.

DOWN:

- Wood delivery. 2 hours of splintery, sweaty, bad tempered manual labour as if in some survivalist camp preparing for (nuclear) winter.


(This is only two thirds of the wood delivery) 

- Need to change ghastly (and unwisely, inexplicably white) sofa covers which have now reached the point where no one who is not a member of my family can enter the house for fear that they may see them. Changing sofa covers is like a super-charged version of changing a duvet cover and deeply unwelcome.

UP:

- No need to deal with wood for another year.


- Delicious scalding hot post-wood-heaving bath with Dead Sea salt, Aromatherapy Asssociates "Light Relax" bath oil (I love how specific they are. Mild mental relaxation, or deep muscular relaxation? Gentle stimulation or WIRE ME UP TO THE MAINS WITH ESSENTIAL OILS?) and the wrist punishingly bulky but so far very gripping Night Film.

Right, turning the router off again.

5 comments:

Xtreme English said...

I just read this line in Austin Kleon's STEAL LIKE AN ARTIST and thought of you: "Writing a page each day doesn't seem like much, but do it for 365 days and you have enough to fill a novel."

I'm sure there are many of us who live in hope for your first novel/memoir/whatever.

Onward!!

Patience_Crabstick said...

My sofas are in that stage as well. I truly do hesitate to have people into the house because of the shameful state of my sofas. I don't understand how other people manage to keep theirs clean.

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