I'm close to certain (though, with the lack of sleep in the past week, I feel like I don't know anything anymore) that this has been the wildest 7 days of my year. Again, big call, but even if summon all my brain power to think back several months, this week is still trumping in the 'events & incidents' department.

It started off as an ordinary week - late night Sunday, 6am start Monday. Finish work by lunch, head home to a) have a nanna nap and b) pack the house up in preparation for moving day (Wednesday).

Tuesday: nannying (job number 2...of 4). Baby cried all day. Home at 4, there's progress all round but ultimately the house is still in a shit. Mum has decided to head off to acting instead of continuing with the house. She's had enough and plans to come home and do an all-nighter. Bad call...Big sis and middle sis get home from work, we attempt to make headway with boxes and by 8pm we are 'ravenous' and end up going for sushi. We sit and laugh deliriously at my pronunciation of every dish whizzing past us on the train, and wait 25 minutes for tempura vegetables...obviously no one's trying to emulate The Iron Chef in Sutherland. We arrive home as Mum pulls in to the driveway and we continue packing into the wee hours of the night. By just after 1am I'm out.

That small, corpse-like figure beside the clothes line is my darling mother taking an afternoon siesta. Moving is just too much for this household.

Wednesday: Moving. Day. Oh. Dear. Lord...I leap out of bed at 6am, my hair wild and my eyes all blurry, ready to do what needs to be done (AKA throw anything and everything into 'miscellaneous' boxes). Mum is so stressed/tired that she has come unhinged and can barely talk. We still manage to laugh our way through the pain. Removalists get lost and arrive half an hour late, giving us a little more time to 'pack' - perfect. The madness continues through the afternoon and eventually the moving men call in three sets of extra hands so they can get the second truck loaded and moved in by 6pm. I'm certain we're the most disorganised house they've ever had to move. They finish (obviously exhausted) at 6:30 and we take a peace offering of Coronas to their office - they're stoked.

Thursday: Wake up in a daze. My room is pitch black and I'm quite toasty from a night of sleeping in a dressing robe, under my winter doona, on a sheet-less bed. It is Summer (well, sort of...Sydney weather is bizarre at the moment)...In the evening I head off to an intimate little gig at youeni provides in Darlinghurst. The music is great, the company is even better. So much so that I don't leave until 11, despite having a 45 minute drive home and work (back in the city) early in the morning. I lose control coming around a tight bend and crash my car pretty badly. All other senses fail me so I sit in my car and cry. Mum has to pick me up at midnight and we wait for the tow truck for an hour and a half. I'm also on hold with the insurance company for about half an hour on my mobile - painful. Car gets towed. Home at quarter to two.

Friday: Catch the train and walk to work. Takes ages to hail a cab so I'm late. I'm still shaky in the kitchen, I drop a glass and it smashes everywhere. Bloody hell. Under house arrest from Mum for the evening. Miss out on a show I was very much looking forward to...well, seeing the leading man was probably more on my mind than the music, but that's not the point.

Saturday: Repeat of train/taxi incident, though this time it ends better because a lovely man pays my fare. Note to self: offer to share cabs with distressed strangers more often...good karma. Work is crazy busy. Blah blah blah. Walk back to the city, catch a crowded train with screaming children. Headache. No one comes to pick me up from the station - 40 minute walk home. Lay down and want to die. Get up and go grocery shopping for the 20 guests coming over instead. More pain. Realise at 11pm I don't have my key to open the shop tomorrow morning. Shit, bugger, piss it, balls etc. etc. It's been misplaced in the abyss of moving debris. I get in contact with a coworker and she says I can pick it up from her at the shop before they close...in 22 minutes. I enthusiastically say "sure!", hang up and suddenly remember no one is home, therefore I have no means of transport (bar the three bikes with flat tires in our garage). I am so tired and so desperate that I frantically rip off my Docs, pull on my sneakers and haul a bike out of the garage. It's got to be quicker than me attempting to run. I now have 12 minutes until closing time. I need to muster the stamina of an Olympian to get there in time...Miraculously, I do get there in time and have a chuckle with the girls about going into cardiac arrest. But seriously, someone get me some Ventolin and a Tambocor...Ride home with the shop key, cramps in my legs and feeling like I've been run over (twice) by a truck. Literally crawl into bed just after midnight and black out for the next five and a half hours.

Sunday: By now, you should be getting extremely irritated by my recount of what has been an extremely slapstick-esque week (you know, like one of those bad movies where everything and everything just goes wrong), but I shall continue for those of you brave enough to read this far. 6am up and off to work. I'm there alone, solely to do coffee until 10am. Of course today I'm not. People start coming in and getting all up in my grill about ordering Christmas tins and customised gelato cakes before 9am and I try and patiently listen to their woes - one male in particular explaining exactly what his fussy "Mrs" does and doesn't want. My boss isn't there and he's desperate for a dessert so I attempt some birthday piping on a display cake that thankfully was for sale. Not bad Emma, not bad at all...Feeling all good about myself until I realise I need to get out of there, get the eff home and cook dinner for 20 people - it's big sis' birthday (hence the cupcakes). Stress kicks in and I feel powerless for two hours as I wait for my shift to finish. Home. Cook. Gin, Pimms and tonic. Entertain. Cook. Stress. Wine. Sing. Rap (don't ask). Gin and tonic. Sleep.

Monday: Up at 5:30am to go surfing for a work Christmas party. Present from the boss? More like punishment...all ends well with lots of laughs and a few waves caught. I'm just so tired I can't be bothered avoiding getting dumped by massive waves, and therefore have spent the last 5 days aching.

Besides catching the train daily to the city every day this week and hiking everywhere, there's no more torture to be shared (publicly) - I promise...Unless you actually enjoyed that (in which case I'm forced to assume you've endured similar and are feeling empathetic)...


1 comment:

  1. I enjoyed that! Very funny reading..hoping that you're alright after the crash(!!!) though! Hope this week has been better & that Christmas will be slightly less chaotic :)


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