POOPED

By -

This week I am knackered. Red Bull doesn’t touch it. Touché Eclat doesn’t hide it. 

Everyone has started asking me whether I’m okay.

It seems my face is the main cause for concern. I look like a bloodhound on chemo. More specifically, I look like a bloodhound on chemo might look IF he were forced to shuffle around, say, Asda, for the rest of his life. My body, too, is exhibiting signs. I walk at a pace that would embarrass a sloth. I sigh and whimper and make grotesque mewling noises. In the evenings, when I haul my sorry ass upstairs, my posture is so spectacularly humped I cast a shadow that looks exactly like a FAT Nosferatu.

There are many reasons for my exhaustion:

1. My partner has taken up a job in London, leaving me to care for three small children, two incontinent cats, and a house, single-handedly. When I say single-handedly, I’m not being literal. (I don’t know how that woman off CBeebies does it, to be honest.) 

2. I need loads of sleep – but I don’t get it. Mutants like Mrs Thatcher and Martha Stewart might only need 4 hours sleep a night, probably less, the fucking freaks, but I need 10. I love sleeping.  I love sleeping so much I have dreams about sleeping. You could put a million billion genetically-modified peas THIS BIG under my mattress, and I wouldn’t give a shit.  

3. Finally, there is the accumulation of six school runs a day, overseeing school creative writing workshops, blogging, the demands of a start-up PR business, and just generally trying to get my shit together after being at home with the kids, all on ONE day’s childcare a week.

Of course, it doesn’t help that we live in a country that has opted out of the European Time Directive - a country that has the longest working hours in western Europe – a country that can’t be bothered to provide adequate childcare or paternity leave but still expects you to be working 24 hours a day. *wipes rabid drool from chin, burns bra.* These days, if I happen to answer the door in my pyjamas, I have to pretend I’m a new mother, or a nurse who works shifts, or that I’ve been up since 5am, baking bread, writing reports for the UN Security Council, and ironing my children's fucking homework, and that I haven’t had time to get changed. Actually, fuck that for an excuse … I am tempted to say that I’ve been SO ridiculously busy that I got changed to GO to bed about six hours ago, but got so distracted by my important schedule - by the trillion things that just couldn’t wait – that I didn’t have time to sleep at all!! Anything is better than someone thinking I might be mental, or idle, or on incapacity benefit, or, in other words, not earning money, not fuelling the retail economy, not buying shit I don’t need …

Meanwhile, I’m not sure whether there are any solutions for the outward signs of my exhaustion. I could try facial yoga, like Gwyneth Paltrow, but then I’d have to hire a contract killer to take myself out. A less extreme solution would be to inject 50g of pure caffeine straight into my face. Or move to Denmark. Where it’s civilised! 

Comments

  1. Bibsey Mama14 March 2012 at 12:08

    I think that I speak for us all when I beg you NOT to go down the Paltrow route (stringy piece of poultry that she is). Could I suggest instead either not answering the door (who are they and what do they want anyway?) or resigning yourself to your state of undress. Dare anyone to question you. I myself am fully surrendered to my pyjamas.

    ReplyDelete
  2. Adventures of a Middle-aged Matron14 March 2012 at 21:37

    Tell them you're 61 and they'll marvel at how young you look. I tried it at a hot dog kiosk. Haven't had my complexion so admired in years!

    ReplyDelete
  3. Older Mum15 March 2012 at 08:00

    I so know how you feel. Start up PR business? Really? I have had the mother of all colds and after three weeks i am still wiping green slime on my daughters sleeves. Sleep is quite frankly better than sex. I love the stuff. Has to be at least 8 hours a night for me. Although a night of unbroken sleep is rare these days thanks to my over worked OH coming to bed at the average time of 2.30 am.

    ReplyDelete
  4. Flossing the Cat15 March 2012 at 23:06

    Older Mum - can you clarify whether you need 8 hours of sex or sleep a night? In a way it's a shame you can't combine both activities, although I suppose it might be considered a little rude.

    ReplyDelete
  5. Older Mum16 March 2012 at 17:13

    Sleep! ps I've tagged you in Firsts http://older-mum.blogspot.com/2012/03/first-for-everything.html

    ReplyDelete
  6. Fiona Leckerman20 March 2012 at 22:58

    What gets me is that when my husband had to do my job (look after his OWN children) because I had a serious sick day. He went to bed exhausted at 7.30pm. And, this was just him playing with them for longer than 10 minute stretches. I, in my flu-like state still managed to cook, feed and wash them. I'm in a perminant state of pooped-ness. I feel your poop, as it were...

    ReplyDelete
  7. Flossing the Cat1 April 2012 at 22:03

    Fiona, so kind of you to feel my poop, albeit virtually. You are a true friend xx

    ReplyDelete

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