It’s been the day from hell. I literally feel like my brains have been fried, a la something out of Hannibal Lecter’s kitchen. I’m trying to come to terms with if this is just a surreal dream or if it is real life. I’m one week away from my holidays but nowhere near what needs to be accomplished before then. Set back after set back and I’m still desperately looking for an interactive and visual designer for a women’s portal I’m heading up. And this before Monday!
So…if any reader would know of a great candidate, please drop me a line on waldau.susanne[at]gmail.com
Until then, I’m looking at a looong night, crunching out some documents and reports.
The last 5 minutes…
… I amused myself with taking pictures of myself …
I rush to the station, half running in a pair of Hugo Boss black pattent leather shoes. Comfortable? No. Sexy? Yes…albeit understated.
I know, I will be late for the office yet again. Nearly missing my first meeting. And then comes the excuses which by now starts to sound like a broken record. “I really did get up at 6.40 am. Well that and my usual morning run.” Was it necessary? Not really, but which made me feel all the better for it.
…I let my mind go blank for a moment, just aiming for the next corner, a far distant lamppost, the end of the canal. I do a few routines at home, and then let the dogs out whilst making a coffee for my husband. And then the first set of laundry. The house is in complete disarray after a shorter trip and a friend just having left. It needs a woman’s touch, but alas not mine.
I throw myself into the shower, counting my luck that I actually washed my hair yesterday. Sebastian get’s a bath too while Reinout is waking up. A few minutes later and he’s in the doorway, taking over the responsibility of Sebastian. I continue to top off my mascara and curling my hair. There’s a big pile of laundry waiting to be ironed. In contrast my so often over crammed closet looks rather empty apart from ¾ of space of cocktail dresses hanging neatly in plastic bags. I dash upstairs once more and find a pair of suit pants along with a white top which I hastily iron and pull on.
The doorbell rings. I think it’s the cleaners. Relief. But it’s not. It’s the owner of the cleaning company. She would like to chat about a new cleaning routine. I glance at my watch impatiently. “Does she really have to do this now?” “OK” I say. “It’s ok, we can talk but I need to take out the laundry and put on a new batch.” Our tête-à-tête is done over smelly socks and sandy trousers. She doesn’t offer to help. But then again I wouldn’t have accepted.
Deal or no deal, I can’t take a decision on a Tuesday morning before work. “Send me your proposal” I ask, kindly but firmly.
She mentions the proposal once more in a tone that it’s evident this proposal will never find a mailbox let alone a piece of hardcopy.
“I just want someone to clean and iron for today. Just finish the job” It’s rapidly becoming my mantra.
The lady agrees but again asks me to accept her new proposal. Give me a break I think. Don’t you see I’m on my way to work, looking ever more impatiently at my watch to give a subtle, but hopefully effective hint.
She asks me to call her during the day. I contra with tonight. She accepts. “And what about the rest of the week?” she asks. “Just Friday, as usual. I need to think this proposal over.”
I throw myself on the staircase and dash down for my bags. Outside the air smells of damp pavement mixing with the exhumes of a passing car. I wait for a moment before stepping out on the street. Another day in making, and yet again I’m late.
It’s been a pretty hectic week. Back to back meetings, followed by catching up on deadlines and sporadic attempts to clear my email backlog. I’m not as fanatic as I used to be, and have curbed my desires to work past midnight. But still when I finally hit the sack sometime in the 11th hour (literally), I’ve been beat.
Moreover on Friday I was utterly exhausted and fell asleep on the couch before the end of Style by Jury, and woke up to Criminal Intent.
Even an all exclusive day dedicated to myself like yesterday’s (spraytan, hair extensions, manicure and pedicure would any woman leap with joy), saw me tired. After a brief dinner at Bij Tholen (a local restaurant here in Haarlem), where I managed to gulp down dinner in less than 5 minutes (I was hungry after of weeek’s worth of inconsistant dieting), I crashed once more on the couch.
With a potential holiday coming up in a few weeks, I feel too tired to make the effort. I would happily leave that part to my husband, and continue life as it is. I realize this is not one of my more excited blog posts, but it all feels pretty gloomy. Despite fake tan, hair and nails…
I’m sitting here with my agenda planning the week ahead. It’s an exciting week with several meetings regading a project close to my heart. Last night, in anticipation of the next coming days, I cleaned out my inbox (*relief*), completed my administation (well overdue) and did the laundry in preparation for the cleaners coming over today.
I went to bed at midnight, but couldn’t sleep. Eventually, under a chemically induced state of mind, I drifted away into oblivion. I can’t recall any dreams, but sometime during the night Sebastian woke up, whaling. He has diarrhea, and a whole sanitation process kicked in, before eventually calm descended once again. At 8 o’clock I woke up from the dogs barking. It took me a few seconds to register it was already Monday. But I can’t help but wonder – where did the weekend go?
Friday evening, Reinout asked me to join in for a wine outside the office…
Sebastian and Reinout….words are superfluous…
MJ is contemplating being back from Ibiza
…and the next day I bought myself a pair of blue ballerinas.
Not from Chanel but Ab Donkers (vastly better for my economy!)