I haven't appreciated until recently how anxious family, friends and colleagues are regarding the unusual and bizarre way I have of organising my life.
Basically, I spend 23 hours of the day doing this,
I'm doing anything but being productive. I'm watching the football, listening to the YouTube brilliance that is Dose of Buckley, making coffee, drinking coffee, contemplating doing a Masters in Viticulture and Enology. And daydreaming. My word I daydream a lot.
But once a day, for approximately one hour, I enter a bee-hive-like state of frenzied efficiency. I call it… the Hour of Power.
At home the frenzy will involve washing and vacuuming and dusting and sweeping and dehairing and oven and fridge. This paragon of domestic virtues is replaced 60 minutes later by an exhausted me, collapsed on the kitchen floor staring blankly into space, complaining bitterly about the futility of it all and munching on a packet of Maoam (the fruity chews).
At work the frenzy will be spreadsheets and reports and emails and phone calls and meeting responses and meeting requests and coffee and mouse and keyboard.
I don't know how it works, but it does. My life is in excellent working order. Good working order. Reasonable working order? The house is clean anyway. The job is going okay. I'm coping, dammit, COPING.
Basically, I spend 23 hours of the day doing this,
I'm doing anything but being productive. I'm watching the football, listening to the YouTube brilliance that is Dose of Buckley, making coffee, drinking coffee, contemplating doing a Masters in Viticulture and Enology. And daydreaming. My word I daydream a lot.
But once a day, for approximately one hour, I enter a bee-hive-like state of frenzied efficiency. I call it… the Hour of Power.
At home the frenzy will involve washing and vacuuming and dusting and sweeping and dehairing and oven and fridge. This paragon of domestic virtues is replaced 60 minutes later by an exhausted me, collapsed on the kitchen floor staring blankly into space, complaining bitterly about the futility of it all and munching on a packet of Maoam (the fruity chews).
At work the frenzy will be spreadsheets and reports and emails and phone calls and meeting responses and meeting requests and coffee and mouse and keyboard.
I don't know how it works, but it does. My life is in excellent working order. Good working order. Reasonable working order? The house is clean anyway. The job is going okay. I'm coping, dammit, COPING.
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