Most people look at me with shock, horror and sometimes, (very rarely) awe, when I tell them that last year I worked full time and did two full time uni degrees with a child. Whether they can’t fathom doing it themselves or I truly am mad I don’t know. I tried to explain it to an old friend last night. I am, essentially, a very lazy person. I am undisciplined and disorganised. I procrastinate, make excuses and generally faff about until the last minute. But this is what works for me. I am extraordinarily efficient under pressure when I do not have time to second guess myself. I like to think of myself as moderately intelligent with a modicum of talent, and like all people like that I am riddled with self doubt. If I don’t have time to think about what I’m doing, only that it needs to get done, it takes the pressure off me to be an absolute genius. If I spend time stressing and worrying and fine tuning things I turn myself into a miserable mess, thinking I don’t understand the question, that my writing sucks, that I don’t know anything and that there is no way I should ever put myself out there and I should just be happy to be a pleb for the rest of ever because I am no good at anything.  I am therefore satisfied with the kind of results I get with the amount of effort I put in. I have turned my laziness into an extremely effective style of working.

I confess however, that it has started to wear a little thin at home this year. When I am done doing the things I am actually required to be doing, I tend to blob about and watch TV. It’s gotten really boring. I can’t believe I said that, but there’s nothing interesting on and while I can watch Firefly reruns until the end of ever, it just makes me sad that Joss Whedon was so ahead of his time and was unappreciated and, sob, WASH, NOOOOOO!!!

A leaf on the wind…

I have resolved that I am going to try and get done all of those things I keep saying I’ll do one day. We all know one day is really another way of saying not a chance, no way, nuh uh, but I’m saying this to appease either my conscience or the nosy fucker who keeps pestering me.

Two weekends ago I bought a sewing machine and taught myself to sew (my mother may have helped a little). I made a dress for Cailee and a cushion cover from the same material because she refused to let it go. She loved it so much she was carrying the scraps around with her, little freak. I then haven’t done much else in the way of sewing because the lights blew in the house. Remind me to get an electrician to come and check my wiring. Surely it’s not normal to have 30 lights in the house and only about 4 working at any given time, one that only works if you toggle the fan switch.

Owls are in vogue currently. See, she’s holding the damn offcuts!

Last weekend I cleaned, vacuumed and scrubbed both of our cars. I found a used nappy in the back of James’s car. Cailee hasn’t worn nappies in over a year. Sick! Then I chopped down our front garden. It was ugly and I’ve always hated it. It took me ages because the scum sucking plants had roots about a hundred feet deep. Then I chucked out the assorted household and baby appliances that have been sitting on my front porch for about a year. They were too big to fit in either of our cars so I borrowed James’s dad 4WD and took a drive to the tip. It was WAY too satisfying kicking a television into a deep pit and watching it smash to pieces. Incidentally it was the last surviving remnant of my single life in Brisbane. Make of that what you will. I offloaded all the baby shit to James’s brother who’s having a baby in April. That sounds normal until you consider that James’s brother is older than MY aunts and uncles. Then again they’ve just spawned another infant cousin for me. Poor Cailee. She’ll never work out her family.

This weekend I attacked the garden with renewed purpose and pulled out the remaining roots and stones and raked it over in preparation for turning it into a vegetable garden. I must have infected James with my mood because I told him I wanted to clean our office and while I was out digging up rotted playpen boards and roots from the earth’s core he actually did his half all by himself (the room is very clearly divided in two and neither of us touches the other’s stuff). I never knew how many things I owned that need charging. Why don’t they just make all chargers a microUSB and be done with it? Then I wouldn’t have a mass of cords that I can’t work out what they belong to. I also found a bunch of keys. I’m not sure what they open.  I know one opens my parent’s front door and the other is the spare key for my ex boyfriend’s car that he wisely got rid of after realising he was a totally shit driver (among other things). I suspect that one might belong to a bike lock that has long since disappeared. Another one might open the door at the factory where I used to live. But I have no idea what the others are for. 

And a very daggy keychain! (The sentiment remains true)

So the crux of all of this is, that I have resolved that this is the year where I just shut my goddamn mouth and get the hell on with doing shit.

So far, it’s worked well. I am eating a gigantic number of calories (mostly protein) and lifting the crap out of heavy weights (did 13,500kg total on Monday!) four days a week. I’m back at MMA training, except now I’m doing proper training in order to eventually get a black belt instead of just doing ring fight training. I am doing awesomely at uni. I am getting stuff done around the house that needs to get done. And by golly, it actually makes me feel great. Maybe my days of laziness are finally over?