It's alarming: Lindsey's internal clock is a bit mad
What IS it with me? I’m so mercurial. I swing dramatically from being a lazy arse to being a human tornado of efficiency. Sadly, these swings can’t be predicted, so you take what you get with me, pretty much. Life’s never dull chez Mason. I’m either fabulous and efficient, or I’m an incompetent buffoon.
Picture, if you will, this scene: it’s 5am on Saturday; I’m wide awake and perky, in full domestic goddess mode, dusting the mantelpiece with an item of clothing discarded the previous evening, watching a documentary about Bon Jovi, wailing along to “WHOAH-OH! LIIIIIVIN’ ON A PRAYYYYYER!”
Compare and contrast the above scene to that of the previous morning. Show your workings. You should read the additional information below before turning over your paper. Please write in joined up writing. You may not use calculators. Remember to put your name and class at the top of the sheet. Or don’t. Whatever. I don’t care.
I had to attend a very important meeting which necessitated a 7am start. We were being conveyed to the venue by bus so I HAD to be on time. This can only end in tears, right, readers?
Now don’t get me wrong; I’m a morning person. I never sleep in. I’m that annoying family member who prowls the house at 6am making coffee in the kinetic equivalent of stage whispers, clanging spoons and clunking cups, turning the cold tap on too far and being sprayed all down my jammy fronts with icy water, which makes me screech like a banshee, waking the rest of the household.
So I retired to bed on Thursday night at a reasonable hour, dutifully setting the alarm on my beloved iPhone (you’re welcome for the free promotion there, Apple, please send my free iPad and any other old tat you have lying around to the usual address).
Now, I don’t know about you, but if I know I HAVE to get up early, I get a bit paranoid and am tempted to stay up all night to make sure I don’t sleep in. I usually toss and turn a bit before nodding off, and wake up during the night a couple of times full of nocturnal angst about this and that, but that night, I slipped into a coma as soon as my head hit the pillow.
Next thing I knew, I was grabbing for my phone to check the time and it was 6.37 on Friday morning. I shook the phone a bit, thinking “NO NO NO THAT CAN’T BE RIGHT NOOOOOOOO” and shot out of the bed like a rat up a drainpipe. I did a couple of stumbly laps round the bedroom before running through the house with the wrong specs on shouting “I’VE SLEPT IN I’VE SLEPT IN!” to nobody in particular, because the wean was sound asleep and developed an immunity to my over-reacting whilst still in my womb.
Somehow I managed to locate a weird outfit from the floordrobe, consisting of a flowery gravy stained top, black leggings (which I later discovered to be the bleach stained ones) and the fugliest shoes you ever did see thanks to a lunchtime shopping frenzy earlier in the week because I needed a pair of shoes I could “walk three miles comfortably to work in” (like THAT will ever happen). I hurriedly brushed my teeth and ran out the door. As luck would have it, I remembered to grab my make up suitcase bag on the way out. Phew.
I made it just in time for the bus; face still covered in sheet marks and hair on end. I’m pretty sure everyone thought I’d been out on the lash and hadn’t been home. If only my life were so interesting. I slapped on some make-up on the bus, narrowly avoiding the Bette-Davis-in-whatever-happened-to-Baby-Jane school of lipstick application and on arrival at the venue, excused myself to visit the Ladies, whereupon a good fumble through my handbag detritus revealed an antibacterial phone wipe, liberated six months earlier from the office. What I subsequently did with that phone wipe is best left unsaid. Suffice to say, I felt marginally fresher, although it stung like billy-o. Oh, what? Like YOU wouldn’t have done the same? Resourceful, that’s me.
Anyway, crisis averted, I regained my composure and participated in the day with my usual gusto. The next morning? I’m wide awake singing Bon Jovi at 5am, dusting mantelpieces. There’s nae justice in the world.
