Robyn’s Nest

Ever feel like you’ve got so much going on inside your tiny little mind that it might just explode? Well, that’s the way I’m feeling at the moment.

I’m a creature of habit and survive by meeting deadlines, having regular slots for regular activities and writing numerous “to do” lists. But frantic fever has set in and there is so much to be done.

• Holiday. While this should be a time of relaxation I have to find time to pack, wax and fish out my passport before I jet off to sunnier climes on Tuesday morning. And will I be able to go a week without checking my email? Probably not.
• Moving house. I’ve spent the past week lugging boxes from one place to another (why didn’t I choose a ground floor flat?!) and that’s just the half of it. My current flat replicates a modern-day bomb site as I attempt to pack things into boxes, shift furniture etc. It also means I need to notify various organisations of my soon-to-be change of address and spend hours on hold to BT in an attempt to get my phone line connected. And then there’s the actual big move which happens the day after I get back off hols. Stressed and tired is a bad combination. There’s also new stuff to find out - what day is bin day, which one is my allocated parking space, can my neighbours hear my loud music, is my landlord a nice guy, how long will it be until I get make-up on the bright white carpet?
• Dreaded diploma. Two nasty assignments coming up, both of which will require time and brain power. And I’m distinctly lacking in both. And I’ve just agreed to a PR research project which will no doubt require more of my time. Doh! Am also way behind on my PR reading and reluctant to read Planning and Managing PR Campaigns while sunning myself in Spain. Would much prefer the latest Jonathan Kellerman thriller.
• Netball. Recently got back into it after a year off and loving it. However, I’ve sneakily been training with two teams and the time has come to choose the one I want to play for. Do I choose the team I initially agreed to play for? Their fees are cheaper, they’re a less serious team but they haven’t trained much so I’ve not bonded with them. Or do I choose the other team? Their fees are double but the players are more my age and I’ve bonded with them during summer training. Eek. Dilemma. Need to make a decision soon and feel guilty that I can’t say yes to both.
• Work. Got loads on at the mo and feel my two week holiday is slap bang in the middle of what will be a manic time. Bad timing! I have lots of reading I want to catch up on and just don’t get round to it. I also feel I’ve lost my sense of what’s happening in the news. My last job involved me sitting at my desk every morning with a cup of tea and a copy of the Daily Mail. I don’t like reading news online, it’s not the same as flicking through a tabloid, so the only proper news I get is provided by the Radio 1 bulletins to and from work. Not good. Must get back into newspaper habit as current affairs is a big part of my job and I need to know what’s going on in the world. And that doesn’t mean the latest Big Brother task!
• Money. An overlap in rent and investments in new things for my new flat means I’m going to be skint for a while. Add to that the fact I need money for my holiday next week and I’m quite generous with my spending, it’s going to be a struggle to cut back. Might have to hide my credit and debit cards.

So, with so much going on at the moment I have made some drastic decisions. Cut down on alcohol consumption (apart from holidays and events) and spend more time reading. Get up earlier and read the paper over breakfast instead of my usual shower, dress, dash out the door routine. Focus on work and CIPR assignments as failure will mean doing them again and avoid any kind of dating/interaction with attractive males as this only leads to disappointment and misery. Going out less will also save on money and I do not need to buy any new clothes, shoes or bags until the autumn. Partying less and playing netball more should keep my BMI on the right side of 24 and I’m considering cycling into work. Sounds pretty boring doesn’t it! We’ll see how long it lasts.

I usually embrace sporting opportunities, be it a game of netball, a run (or rather fast walk) around the park or some whacky new fitness class for a giggle. But there’s a time and a place for sport and I’m concerned that tomorrow morning won’t be it.

Tonight I’m hitting Brum for a girly night out with one of my bestest chums - having managed to shake off her new boyfriend. Three’s a crowd and all that plus I couldn’t find my gooseberry costume anywhere.

So, it’ll be just the two of us and if previous nights out are anything to go by, tonight could get messy. But my other friend is expecting me to sweat is out at a midday fitness class in Leicester tomorrow, followed by a session in the gym. And there’s nothing wrong with that, I’d usually lap it up. But with a hangover? With serious sleep deprivation? With severe dehydration? I sense I may be a tad grumpy come lunch time.

I imagine tomorrow morning going something like this:

• Wake up to sound of very loud noise and wonder where the hell I am and what that beeping noise is (alarm clock)
• Wipe the eye bogies from my face and peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth
• Try and sit up without feeling sick
• Trip over mate on way to the toilet and then just sit there for ages
• Head to the kitchen, stub my toe on an empty wine bottle and tread on discarded and dried up contact lens, which now resembles a shard of glass
• Search for liquid refreshment - no Lucozade, only pinot grigio, so plump for warm tap water instead
• Attempt to pull on my trackies and hoodie and look like an athlete, no time for shower
• Scrape hair off face and tie in an off-centre ponytail
• Recycle last night’s eye make-up and grab car keys
• Hit the motorway, feeling not all that in control of the car
• Pick up friend and get comments like “you look like shite”
• Make it to exercise class and crave Nurofen for thumping headache
• Fail to sweat because body is trying to hang on to every bead of moisture, as dehydration does its worst
• Snap at friend who’s super alert after staying in last night
• Drown myself in the swimming pool - anything to stop the pain
• Get rescued by fit lifeguard but lose my bikini bottoms in the process
• Die of embarrassment as fit lifeguard hands his phone number to my mate

Okay, so maybe I’m being a bit negative and over dramatic but I think a session in the gym tomorrow - no matter how much I want to do it at the moment - is a tad ambitious after a night on the tiles.

My eyes are so tired and dry and I’m blinking so much that people probably think I’ve got some kind of nervous twitch. I haven’t, I’m just fookin’ knackered.

The reason for my sore peepers? Dehydration’s probably got something to do with it - I don’t drink enough water - but I’ve been overdoing it on the sport front lately and it’s taking it’s toll.

They say exercise is good for you, and I’d be the first to endorse that fact usually, but today I think I need a bit of a rest. Last week I spent five out of seven nights playing sport - korfball, netball and volleyball - and last night I had korfball training and netball training back to back. I resembled somthing along the lines of a beetroot with a sweat problem when I got home!

So, not only have I got tired eyes, but my bones are aching too, particularly my shoulders, and my calves are twinging at regular intervals - probably not a good idea to be wearing killer heels to work then, eh?

Despite the utter relief that I’m not playing in tonight’s netball match (’cos I’m not insured/affiliated to the league yet) and my desperate need for a night in front of the box, I do think sport is a truly great thing.

Not only does it allow me to eat pretty much what ever I want (diets don’t work for me, and I can easily polish off a tub of ice cream in one sitting), it keeps me fit and gives me a great social life. My sporting chums are much-os fun-os.

I’ve never been a fan of the gym, I haven’t got the motivation to attend, although I have on a couple of occasions invested in an annual membership only to give up after a couple of inspired months. Lessons learned there.

Sport, on the other hand, gets me motivated from the off. I play because a) it’s a chance to catch up with mates and get the latest gossip, b) it’s a fun way of keeping fit, c) if I don’t keep playing/training I might get a bit rusty, which leads to d) if i play/train crap then I may lose my place on the team or sacrifice some of my court time to better players. I’m hoping at some point there’ll be an e) - fit male players to dribble over - but at the moment this is not the case.

So, tonight’s sporting activity will include changing channels on the TV and trying out new seating positions on the sofa. And if I’m feeling really energetic, I might run a bath.

If I had cocktail sticks to hand I’d probably use them to prop my eyes open. Having the works Christmas do on a school night is a bad idea.

The combination of bowling (attempting to look fashionable in the shoes and keep nails intact) a curry, dancing and a lot of alocohol and laughter are the ingredients for a great night out - and it was. But now we’re at work and struggling to concentrate.

The headache can be sorted by popping a few pills and rehydrating with never ending cups of water and the stomach can be settled with a huge coffee and breakfast sarnie from the cafeteria. But the tiredness can only be cured by sleep. And it’s not professional to catch some zzzzs at work.

Today is the sort of day I wish I was curled up at home in front of the fire, and watching one of those Christmassy films on Channel 5 with a mug of hot choc. Bliss. Yes, I knwo I sound like a granny but it’s the hangover talking.

The champagne and nibbles being offered at work at lunchtime just don’t appeal, I’m seriously flagging, and I will be very grateful for my bed this evening - and the fact the Christmas break will begin at 3pm tomorrow.

So, some lessons have been learned. Firstly, that works festive bashes should take place on Friday or Saturday nights; secondly, that alcohol can be consumed in moderation and not like it’s going out of fashion; thirdly, that bowling shoes really are as bad as I thought they were; and fourthly, that my colleagues can bust some pretty cool grooves on the dancefloor.

When I woke up this morning I refused to believe it was 7am and therefore time to get out of bed. Surely I’d only been asleep for a few minutes! And it was still dark outside so it had to be night time? Didn’t it?

Nope, another seven and a bit hours had flown by and it was time to drag myself out of bed and start another day. And it made me wonder if there would ever be a day - just one - when I’ll be able to spring out of bed and not feel tired.

I would so love to be a morning person. To spring out of bed at 6am and go for a jog around the block. To do all my boring household chores so I could enjoy more ‘me time’ after work. To sit and watch the news over breakfast, rather than pouring a bowl of cornflakes down my throat while attempting to dry my hair, pull my socks on and clean my teeth. To have time to actually check whether I’d turned the hair straighteners off, rather than worrying about it all day. One day I will burn the house down, all in the name of straightened locks, I just know it.

But it’s just not me, this getting up at a reasonable hour lark. I can set my alarm for 6am but it just means I will spend an hour snoozing. I leave exactly enough time to shower, get dressed, put make-up on (this is ESSENTIAL - can’t leave the house without in on, it’s not fair to other people)  and wolf down brekkie (although this is occasionally sacrificed for an extra 10 minutes in bed on those even more tired than usual days) and then drive to work.

So anything which doesn’t fit into that routine - replying to a text message, putting a load of washing on, having to fill up with diesel on the way to work or nip to the cashpoint - will make me late. And I really hate being late so it’s a good job I can move quick!

I would be much less stressed if I just got up 15 minutes earlier but I just can’t bring myself to do it. I feel tired and surely the cure for tiredness is more sleep?

Saying that, I could go to bed at 9am and still feel knackered the next morning. Perhaps I’m destined to have big bags under my eyes. Better go now, am feeling a bit tired. Too tired to type in fact. Snore.