Time has two settings in my life, I’ve noticed. It’s either brain-achingly, mind-numbingly, teeth-grindingly slow, as if the arms on the clock are struggling to move and are fighting through thick immoveable treacle and I gaze at the poxy thing on the wall wondering how the actual FUCK have I only been up for a few hours, when in my mind, it’s been DAYS.Surely? Generally, my thinking is like this when I’m in a low spell, I want the day to end and be back in bed before I’ve even got out of bed in the morning. Everything is too much. Everything is too daunting, too overwhelming, the absolute most basic tasks mutate into BIG. SCARY. SHIT.
Or there’s just no time, it’s running out, there’s simply not enough minutes, I’m stranded in a state of flux, the list of things to do is ever-growing and fast becoming more and more fevered, the writing on the list more erratic and unintelligible. Multi-tasking just won’t do, prioritising is doing naff all and there is JUST NO FUCKING TIME. I keep telling myself all I want to do is paint my nails and read a few pages of my book, have a sodding bath if I gonna go all out and throw caution to the wind, but the actual fact is, I haven’t even managed to shower in days or eat properly in weeks.
Of course, the no time fiasco isn’t really helped by the fact I keep adding shit to that mountain of crap I have to sort out, clean, wrap up, post, cook, complain about, put in the loft, take out of the loft, write about, take photos of, Tweet about, email about, make phone calls for, wash, buy, send back, learn, teach, arrange appointments for etc etc etc blah blah blah and so it all continues and I’m a stressed out, raging bull of nervous energy, flapping about the place, spinning far too many plates, leaving only a trail of tattered, scribbled on Post It notes in my wake.
There is no happy medium. No balance. No give AND take. No no no no.
It’s either go go go batshit crazy, or I’m pulling the duvet over my head and wishing and praying it all goes away, and someone, a fictional figure or apparition for all I care, will waft in and do it all for me until I feel more able to myself.
I find it impossible to say no. I have always been that idiot awake and sobbing from panic and total exhaustion at 4am, furiously baking, making, drawing, cooking, painting, sewing, writing, researching because I’ve stupidly agreed again to do something I just haven’t the time to do.
Is there even a nice, light and easy state somewhere lurking in the middle, does it even actually exist? Is it nestled in there somewhere, a tiny slither, that is in the centre of those scales, just an infinitesimal point before the balance tips? Or is just another bloody myth?
Today I was picking up Bean from nursery, I’d spent the 3 hours he was there running around like a blue arsed fly, on speed, at top speed on a treadmill, with an axe murderer chasing me desperately attempting to get. shit. done whilst I could without a small, howling person attached to my leg. I’m at nursery, hunting for Bean’s stuff in the black hole of the nursery coat pegs, that swallows my son’s belongings daily. Bean’s fanny arsing about, trying to negotiate with the nursery nurse to bring a painting home that is actually intended on making some big screaming, glittering Christmas display thing for the nursery entrance lobby. All the kids and parents are gone, Bean and I are the only people left, I’m nearly there, I have saved his hat, his umbrella, his bag, all I need is his damn coat. I stupidly look up, and mistakenly catch the eye of a nursery nurse, her radar beeps, she’s sensed I’m stuck here.
Oh fucking penises. She’s coming over.
Please don’t ask me to do anything. Or bring anything else in. Or come to another meeting. Please. Not today. I’m begging you. I can’t give anymore. I can’t. I just want to find my son’s coat so I can drag him home and do more stuff until my ears bleed.
Nursery Nurse: Hiya! *creepy grin*
Nursery Nurse: On Friday we’re inviting parents to come in and make Christmas decorations with the children to put up around the nursery!
Me: Oh, that sounds good.
*thinks* Don’t ask me, don’t ask me, don’t ask me, don’t ask me, don’t ask me…
Nursery Nurse: Would you like to join us? I still have lots of slots available!
*thinks* Slots? SLOTS? WTFH are you talking about woman?
Oh shite, I’m being pulled, pulled I tell you, she’s using telekinesis to drag me to a rota pinned to the wall and looks at me expectantly.
Nursery Nurse: I could fit you in at any of these times…
I look at the chart, properly this time, and ignore the fact Bean’s Nursery employ witches with evil super powers of persuasion. There’s two names on it, only two individuals have stuck their name on the thing. Out of maybe a hundred parents. Oh fucking hell. I’m overcome with sadness and shame.
Nursery Nurse: When would you like to come in?
*thinks* Say no. Say no. Say no. Say no. Say no. Say no.
Bean joins us, somehow he’s conjured his coat out of thin air and is trying to put it on inside out.
Me: Erm. One o’clock?
Nursery Nurse: Brilliant! I’ll see you then!
*thinks* YOU FUCKING IDIOT, YOU HAVEN’T GOT THE TIME! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!
Me: Yep, great, see you Friday.