The joy of working for yourself means that on some days you get to like lunchtime and realise all you’ve achieved is a banging contour, an average Instagram selfie and two email replies and you’re like NOT THIS AGAIN, FFS.
That’s me right now, btw. I’m currently waiting in on an ASOS delivery and planned to whisk my laptop away for a romantic date day to Starbucks but then I realised that as fun as sitting around waiting for a nice man in a polo t-shirt to deliver a bag of spring dresses is, it kinda sucks all your motivation out of you.
Like, I’m sitting around waiting for him to arrive so that I can crack on with my plans for world domination.
And with every minute I waste refreshing Twitter notifications and my bank balance, a little part of my go-get-em attitude slips away.
And then you start to feel anxious like why I so unproductive, why I so stupid and slow, why I only get six blog posts up this week instead of like eight, why I such a bad blogger.
The downward spiral of being left with your own undistracted head, eh?
So, instead, I am doing what I do best – I am sitting in an oversized jumper on my bed with KISS playing and the cats napping and I’m typing to you.
I am cracking on with my plans for world domination regardless of the ASOS delivery man. And it feels good to be back in control again.
My plan for today is to write whatever this ramble of a post is, to make some coffee and to plan a couple of other posts – maybe for today, maybe for the weekend and maybe for Monday.
I need to send back some clothes that make me look like I’m going to a fancy dress party as a festival tent, and I need to unpack the various bags dotted around the house that I’ve dumped wherever I please throughout the week.
I’d like to get a couple of clothes washes out the way before the weekend sets in and I need to see if we need any ingredients for tonight’s Jamie Oliver skinny carbonara recipe.
And maybe, just maybe, I’d like to pop out the house for some storage boxes, if only to show off said bangin’ contour to whichever lovely Ipswich lady serves me in The Range.
So that’s me, wbu boo?
Also, I woke up today hurting in muscles that definitely don’t even exist. I had a yoga class at the Sky Garden yesterday for a couple of new bareMinerals launches (more on those in some sort of sassy beauty post next week), and so naturally did that thing where I tried on a swimming costume and convinced myself I was DEFS more toned. (Also, I only just discovered the ASOS fuller bust swimwear range and I need it ALL).
That happens right? One hardcore class can turn you into the body double of Gigi Hadid, yes yes?
I’ve spent a lot of the last week traveling about. I’ve been to London and back three times and I drove a six hour round-trip to eat fajitas and compare ASOS saved items with one of my best friends who was off work sick.
I tell you now, that moment in the drive where I lose signal for Heart and KISS and I have to listen to Radio 1 kills me every time. There I said it, I admit it, I hate Radio 1 and I DON’T CARE WHO KNOWS IT.
I’ve also spent a lot of time just staring at my bedroom like whadooi do next?
The bed side table we ordered for Chris’s side looks so ridiculous that we both basically lay down on the floor and squealed whilst laugh crying when we put it up last weekend.
OK, I lie, I didn’t lie down on the floor, I actually climbed inside my wardrobe and refused to come out.
We need to buy some more fake plants because y’know, I have that awful track record of killing anything green. In fact, from where I’m sitting I can actually see a pot that’s supposed to have a 10cm cactus in it, there is no sign of said cactus, it has shriveled back into the soil.
I also want to get my mits on a couple of new mint and pale pink cushions, and also put up a photo rail above the bed, rather than having the three framed prints we currently have.
OH and also I want an ottoman. Ideally a second hand one I can sass up, but sadly nothing will fit in our car, so there’s that.
TALKING about cars, we’re looking to upgrade ours this summer. And as much as I want to start begging for a mint green 500, I think we might be thinking about test driving the giant warrior of a car that is the Fiat 500 x.
Go on, Google it. Why is it so big. Why do we need a car fit for a family of five. I dunno.
Does anyone have one? Can anyone gimme a heads up? Will I basically cry with fear every time I need to bay park at Tesco or am I OK?
And on that note, I will leave you to go and eat something sexy from Pret because YES FRIDAY, YOU BEAUTIFUL LIL POPPET and read some lists on Buzzfeed that make you snort tea out of your nose.
Love you bye.