Stuff and that.

Stuff. And yeah. That

Month: August, 2015

Staying upright appears to be easier than I thought.

Well, a couple of weeks later and the mess that is my right knee is best described as colourful. It has until next Friday to pull its head in before I take it to see a trained medical professional. (A trained medical professional who looks at peoples insides for a living thinks I’ve just (just?) smashed the tendon that connects patella to tibia. Choice. Six months. Not so choice.

So, as a result I have taken a spot of time to reassess. As one does. Sometimes with an icepack. Icepacks are cool. (See what I did there? Oops. That wasn’t intentional.) I did in fact acquire a new pair of runners that have tread and I’ve managed to stay acquainted with the vertical plane for the last couple of weeks. I’ve also started with the going to bed early (11pm is so early. Shut up.) and most importantly, the leaving of work by 5pm. I’ve compromised and as long as I’m out the back door by 5.15pm, that’s leaving at 5 (mainly because my damn work computer is fucking slow and if I don’t shut it down properly it does Bad Things), and if I’m in bed by ten past 11. Yeah, you get the picture… Aiming for seven hours sleep each night, anyway.

And the injuries are also making me reconsider my standards. There’s always been a slight degree of cognitive dissonance with me and housekeeping. On the one hand, I’m not by nature an orderly person. Organised, yes. Orderly? Pfft. Begone with you. Left to my own devices, I let things slide to what I like to call Critical Mess then I tidy it up properly, give it a jolly good scrubbing and move along. On the other hand, I live with three other people who also like to let things slide to Critical Mess levels, and I’m yet to find where the level at which they feel the need to put their own dirty washing in the damn washing basket rather than the lounge room floor. And on the other hand (I’m a gemini, I’ve still got a spare hand), I don’t like to live in total squalor. So I have standards, they’re variable and revolve around pee-less toilet floors, dusting and chromatically organised wardrobes.

This brings me to what I am thinking of calling Miss Maudy’s Hierarchy of Housework where I work out the minimum I can get away with without the house falling round my ears and me turning into a banshee of the screeching variety?

  1. What is an absolute *must do*?
  2. What can be let slide but still needs doing?
  3. What can be delegated?
  4. What do I enjoy?
  5. What do I hate?

Must Dos are thus:

  • Food procurement
  • Planning (meals, weekly, diaries etc)
  • Bill payment
  • Washing (and ironing and folding and putting away)
  • Clean toilet
  • Clean kitchen work surfaces
  • Keeping shit off the floor (I am old. I have falls)

Sliders are therefore thus:

  • Clean bathroom
  • Properly scrubbed up kitchen
  • Floors
  • Dusting
  • Immaculately organised cupboards

Suffice to say that over the last couple of weeks, we’ve had food (and interesting meals), the bills have been paid, the toilet is clean and there’s nothing left on the floor for me to stand on or fall over (and yes, I will so throw your work boots outside for the doggie to eat if you take them off in the middle of the back door way) And aside from the oops I forgot to get someone to collect a kid, and what do you mean I have to have this x-ray done before the kid’s orthodontist appointment, can I reschedule the damn appointment? things have been wombling along nicely (including the cooking of a three course meal for eleventy bazillion people yesterday. Ok, it was 12 or 14 or something. A lot.)

It also appears that keeping shit off the floor includes sweeping up the dog hair. That dog sheds a LOT. Also, I procured a jobbie that involves a wet cloth and a stick and wiping the floor. Works a treat in the toilet and on the kitchen floor when the damn doggie drags paper towel soaked in pork fat all over the floor (falls, people. I fall over a lot).

But shit’s dusty and there’s an interesting Pollock-esque toothpaste display in the bathroom. Also, floor is a bit sticky in places. I’d also like to reclaim my weekends so there’s more crochet and blogging and less scrubbing. And um. I’d really rather have immaculately organised cupboards than scrub the damn bathroom.

So, think I’d like someone to come in every couple of weeks, move all the damn furniture, mop and vacuum properly, pick up shit and dust under it, wipe down the cupboards and scrub out the shower.


(15 minutes to spare, g’nite!)


Woe is fucking me (apologies in advance for the fucking swearing)

Yes, well. This last week has best been described as completely fucked.

On Monday, a pair of shoes I’ve worn several times without issue gave me a gigantic blister the size of a 20c piece for no apparent reason. Ouch.

On Tuesday, either the wind caught the car door, or it got caught up on my coat, and it slammed me across the back of the calf. Ouch. Tuesday wasn’t finished with me yet – there was an incident with the toilet seat. I was popping it down to do my thing, and BAM! Dropped it and the frightfully sharp resin-y edge scraped my shin. More ouch.

Wednesday was the piece de resistance of the week thus far. I’m wearing my *very* attractive runners due to the aforementioned sodding 20c piece sized blister and looking nice and fancy from the ankles up because I have a meeting with externals. Meeting goes swimmingly, I’m taking them down the stairs and WHAM!

On my arse.

On the concrete stairs.


(I didn’t even swear. I was a complete sneaker wearing sitting on my arse in the middle of a stairwell with my skirt around my ears professional.)

Because I’m rather ace at falling down, I ended up not hurting anything much aside from my dignity (which was left smeared all over the stairwell). However, I think every muscle in my body from the ankles up hurt like a thing that really hurts a lot. The next day, getting up off my chair was like one of those evolution of man posters – neanderthal to homo sapiens in ten easy steps. I established that my left forearm and right ankle didn’t hurt. Yay.

I got through Thursday without adding to my list of injuries. You can imagine my relief.

Friday dawned, crisp and delicious. I step outside with Doggie and Chaos in tow for our (very slow) morning constitutional. I’ve not taken more than 50 steps and KER-SPLAT. My feet shoot out from underneath me on the wet concrete and I slam my knee into the ground.

Fuck me fucking swinging.

Talk about icing on the cake.

Dear Cosmos,

Ok, I get the fucking message. You want me to

a) Slow down and take life a bit easier and/or

b) Get some new fucking sneakers.

Well, here’s the thing, Cosmos. Taking it easy is all very well and good, but it doesn’t get the toilet cleaned or the shopping done. So, how about I get the new sneakers and you let gravity return to its usual levels, stop throwing bits of cars and toilet seats at me? I promise I will try my best to do that relaxing crap  thing be a little more Zen and a little less control freak anal retentive.

Yours VERY Sincerely