Why they call it ad(d)min, when all it seems to do is take away my will to live?
Yes, I’m back, using too much punctuation, wonky spelling and font-tweakage to get across a really silly point, badly. But you get the picture: just 10 days away from my house and the front door is inassailable for post. There is a mountain of bills, leases, notifications and Chinese menus, only the latter of which I’m interested in. I managed to get in past this mountain by pushing really hard, but once I’d managed to close the door again, the avalanche shushed in behind it and sealed it shut. I was trapped. I was forced to act immediately by ignoring it all.
But I knew I couldn’t exist on day-old souvenir oatcakes and Battlestar Galactica boxsets forever. Plus, sooner or later I’d have to go training again. The marathon’s in 9 weeks, and I can’t run 10 miles in my flat and that’s how far I have to run today. (You can donate to my efforts for the Alzheimer’s Society here.)
So at 8am, I knuckled down to clearing what had to be cleared. I notified all the listings people about the upcoming London Comedy Improv show. I did all the banking it’s possible to do between two countries when one is on a very low income. I bundled receipts and pleading letters into a parcel for my accountant; I know he’ll get a laugh out of it. I put cheques from me into envelopes and one for me for £63 into the bank. I wrapped and posted a panda to Canada – a project I decided to call Canapanda. (Panacanda and Pananada were just two early versions.) My eyes no longer work, there’s bubble-wrap and the plastic windows from old envelopes all over the living-room and I’m a broken woman.
I missed lots of the good things about “normal” days at home: the extra cups of tea, the daytime telly, the long dog-walk. But at least I can get out of my house now. I’m off to run 10 miles.
