I don’t like Mondays

It is just a few weeks into 2011 and I am ready to kill the cat and cook it for dinner. I joke not.
I am not coping, so I thought this afternoon I would check out the Gwyneth Paltrow site, of how to balance life as a working women and housewife. I mean, if you can get some celeb advice why not? After all they are just normal woman like us, right? Somehow Gwyneth manages to look very serene so she must be well-balanced and organised because her hair always looks great and somehow she never looks harassed. Unlike yours truly, who likes she has been dragged through a bush. So after much searching I found a nice article on how GP and her friends get through the day so smoothly.
So let us get advice from one her busy friend, Juliet, and see where I am going wrong.

“I’m an early bird—so I try to seize “Juliet time” first thing in the morning. I get up between 5:30am – 6am and quickly scan my email. Then my priority is exercise. If I can work out each day, I’m a really happy person. And let’s face it, if you are getting up on a cold morning in the dark it had better be fun. I’ve found that having a trainer come to my house on a Monday really motivates me—she’s knocking at the front door so going back to sleep is NOT an option. Life Is a blur from the minute that I arrive in the office but that’s how I like it. I have the benefit of an amazing assistant, without whom I could not make it happen (Thank you, thank you, Diane). My day is packed back-to-back from the moment that I arrive until the moment that I leave”
She has some great pointers too.

“Condense your appointments: find a great salon that understands time pressure and can accommodate your schedule. I have a great salon near me that I can go to at the end of the day to have a facial, manicure and pedicure at the same time. I’m in and out in 70 minutes. Not relaxing but efficient. Same for other appointments. I have acupuncture at 9.30pm at night. It’s a wonderful end of the day”

Of course! Silly me. Now I shall just phone Tracy at the local, I am sure she can have me in and out for less than an hundred quid. Now Acupuncture… If I remember that hurts. A wonderful end to the day? Is the woman mad. Or too rich to care?

Ah ha, was I thinking they are normal like me? Okay so every morning I need to seize ‘Lynda time’ now would that be the time between cleaning up the cat sick and trying to flatten my hair down. Oh no, I see it now I am not getting up early enough. Must change the alarm from 6.30 to 5.30 and if you believe her you’ll believe anything. Now I have to agree exercise is my priority too, but sadly after checking out the cost of a personal trainer I find my measly salary does not quite cover one, so let’s skip that and continue with the old routine of dragging myself from the bed, moaning until I grab my first cup of caffeine. So, it looks like the celebs are not going to help me this year. I have been debating whether to dispose of the cat. Maybe a new home and if that does not seem possible maybe a convenient accident. Poor Bendy, I hear you cat lovers cry. Well, let us look at a day in Lynda’s life. Be warned, it is sordid and sad and does not start like Juliet’s.
Get up at 6,30 and am usually moaning. Drag myself downstairs and sit like a zombie on the couch while Andrew prepares breakfast. Nothing to healthy about this I am afraid. A bowl of granola with some berries and yogurt, followed by my caffeine shot. A quick shower if there is time. If Andrew gets there first then it has to wait until I get home. A quick drag up of the hair, earrings plonked on, a quick check of the time and I am out of the door, forget any make up malarkey or quick email check. It is still dark and cold. I climb into my car and start the harrowing journey to work. This usually involves the odd curse and finger salute when other drivers won’t let me out onto the main road. Then it is a slow crawl to work. I arrive flustered, throw my coat off and sit in front of my computer and panic. It is a new job so I am keen to do well. Today the computer crashed and I didn’t get half my work done. Sadly, I do not have a wonderful assistant called Diane. I think she would be well overworked. Sheer depression drives me to a chocolate biscuit. I leave work much later than I should and decide not to get shopping on the way home as I really need to finish an article. I arrive home to find I can’t park. The mums have come for some meeting at the school. I park with a great deal of road rage and totally block another car in. I check it is successfully blocked in and walk into the house with a sense of satisfaction. I come face to face with carnage. It looks like a murder spree took place while I was out. Dead birds litter the floor and feathers are sticking to the furniture. Wet dirty paw prints are all over the floor and the kitchen units. I scream at the cat who flees outside. I look at the clock and realise that I am already running late and I have not had lunch yet. I curse the cat again and shout out of the window he is dead meat if he returns. I search through the shed for the spade to clear up the birds and remember my darling husband still has it since the snow drifts. I curse again and spend a good thirty minutes getting up the courage to pick up the dead birds with kitchen towel. Finally, I hoover up and wash the floor and kitchen counters and curse yet again for not going to the shops and buying a new mop. Washing floors on my hands and knees is not a pretty sight. I decide to skip lunch and just have a yogurt. My mobile rings. It is Vodafone with some special offer for me. I waste thirty more minutes with them and I then spend another fifteen minutes trying to get through to my doctors to book a blood test. Finally I jump in the shower and then go to make tea. I cannot find the tea as my husband has muddled up all the boxes. I curse again and go upstairs to get clothes. On the bed are my husband’s clothes thrown across the bed. I curse again and then feel the tears start. Why can’t people make an effort? I really am not sure if I am including the cat in this. At last almost two hours after arriving home I sit down, take two painkillers for a headache and finish my article. Soon it will be time to cook dinner. The cat sleeps contently on the couch again, his massacre obviously a distant memory now and I sit with the song I don’t like Monday’s going over and over in my head while pointing a shotgun at him.

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