Friday, June 24, 2011

I can't keep up with your turning tables

It's June 24th.
On a Friday.
I've officially been a Freelancer (again) for my second Friday now.
It's not actually work that's stressing me out really, it's everything put together.

It's June 24th, on a Friday.
(Randomly, I was wondering why the 24th seemed to ring some kind of bell and I remembered that it's an old anniversary date. Well, not June. Just, 24ths. Back when anniversaries weren't enough and there were Monthsaries as well. Gawd.)

It's June 24th, on a Friday.
It's the first day this week, the first day since I've gotten back from Perth that I don't have to be out and about. The first day I can spend packing. And I have been. Except, it doesn't quite seem to be doing much.
Like, seriously, where the FUCK does all this crap come from?

We want to move out by month end-
Not entirely impossible, I'd say. But if my rate's anything to go by. Or well, I don't know.
Over the last four, five years, this is the third time I'm moving.
You'd think I'd have gotten used to packing lifetimes into boxes. Hah.
Well, I'm less sentimental now. I've been callously chucking things, ripping them up (it's more satisfying) and brutally hauling out things to give away. I can't be fucked anymore, quite honestly speaking. We probably wouldn't miss half the things if they accidentally got burnt up.
The rate I'm going, I'd say I stand a decent chance at moving out by Sunday.
But there's all the family things too. I don't know how to work this out best, frankly speaking.
With this lack of an outside pressure (which is good but also has its down sides), it doesn't seem likely that there'll be ONE BIG MOVING DAY where people come in and clear out our shit and like it or not, TA DAH-
We're tripping over dustbunnies and half-taped boxes in our new living room.
It's not supposed to be so difficult. And this move is supposed to be nicer, isn't it?
Because it's our place and all and yadayada.
So, a thought-
Maybe If I manage to get my shit together, I can move over first and then come back to clear and help. Because that'll = space = time = extra hands = more incentive for family to join me = less hover-about-type of pressure.
Right? Well I don't know. Just a thought.

So. It's June 24th, on a Friday.
The proposed deadline is Month end, June 30th. That's a Thursday.
Tomorrow, June 25th: I have to be up and around doing something or other for work.
Sunday, June 26th: I'm supposed to have a contractor in to lay down my plinth.
Monday, June 27th: My application for TTRP is due. Oh my God. I need to sort that out.
Tuesday, June 28th: Performance at SDC
Wednesday, June 29th: Surely, surely I've got something on because there is never any peace for the wicked.
Thursday, June 30th: Performance at SDC. Oh wait, is that the deadline for moving?
Friday, July 1st: Audition
Saturday, July 2nd: First Saturday of Term 3 for the children.

There'll likely be a meeting next week then, so that we know for sure what's happening.

So go on, go. Tell me what to do. Tell me, how I might possibly, possibly scrounge together a few minutes to make SOMETHING work.
Fucking hell I need a smoke. Okay, no. That might just be the coffee telling me that.

And then, and then the term will start.
And every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon's not mine. And possibly every Wednesday and Friday afternoon too.
And there won't be anymore Saturday mornings.

If I wanted these six months to take a break,
then why doesn't it feel like I am?

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