I am at the office on a Sunday, again. Lady Lawyering is just so riveting that I love to work weekends, as I'm sure you well know. In fact, I'm mostly stuffing around on the internet (bought treats from Mondegreen, whose misspelling of 'yippee' on their site is irksome but not irksome enough to quell my desire for a cute wee tights/jumper/dress situation, apparently) and going out for chai (did I tell you I gave up coffee? Well I did and I feel great but my tea and diet coke intake is now insane) with a fellow colleague stuck in limbo at work. We're waiting on the outcome of a Big Thing Outside Our Control, which dictates the next six weeks of our lives. Brutal, I tells ya, on the most glorious day of winter sunshine.
By the way, has it come to your attention that I've left my 20s behind? Oh yes, you can definitely tell. Here's what I did yesterday:
1.30am: woke up in a cold sweat having realised that I didn't send an email on Friday night. Drafted email, put reminder in phone, fretted.
6.30am: answered an email from the UK the minute it came in. Lay awake, panicking about work.
8am: sent the forgotten email. Heave sigh of relief.
8.30am: got up for tea, toast and talk with my mum.
9.30am: showered, pottered round the house: bathroom cleaning, two loads of laundry, tidying, dishes
11.30am: coffee with friends and their 18 month old, discussing their renovation plans
1pm: tasty soup produced by P, based on a recipe we saw on old episodes of Rick Stein's Food Heroes
1.30pm: trip to the dump
2.30pm: second trip to the dump
3pm: trip to Mitre 10 Mega. Purchased shit like a spirit level, cordless drill, hedge trimmer
3.30pm: trip to Noel Leeming.
4.30pm: sorted out bookshelf
6.30pm: out for drinks and dinner with friends
9pm: so tired + have to work tomorrow. OK, one more drink but only one, you guys.
I mean, I really don't recognise me any more. I was making work phone calls and basically being a pseudo bitch to an event coordinator (who, in my defence, had cocked up) by 7.45am this morning. (pseudo bitch in that I was vaguely masking the bitchiness; I'm not a pseudo bitch myself, you well know I'm the full bitching banana.)
Just in case you missed it, I WROTE DOWN A RECIPE FROM A TV SHOW OVER 10 YEARS OLD AND AIMED AT MIDDLE AGED BRITS.
When I was a kid, I hated it when we had to go to the dump (the tip, the rubbish place, you know, waste collection). Dad wouldn't let us ride on the trailer the whole way there which was SO UNFAIR(tip was down State Highway One, NZ's busiest road, good call Dad) and it smelled bad when you got there. And yet yesterday, P and I got a real kick out of backing the car up and punting polystrene into the void. We have definitely moved on from Saturdays of the previous decade, which inevitably involved a hangover, late rising, junk food, possibly a spot of part time work at some cruddy retail job, acquiring another hangover by being out well into the early hours of Sunday. These are the days of our lives, I guess.