26 November 2013


One of the best pieces of advice I was given when I gave up the day job was this: get up, get washed and dressed right down to your lace-up shoes every morning before you even think of doing anything else. The advice came from the most organised woman I know, and she got it from this website. I dislike this website with a vengeance for being so bossy and goody two shoes, so much so that I can't bear to mention its name.  Mostly I dislike it for being so very right. I come from a family with a father who disappeared before sunrise and never returned until way after sunset and a mother who always saw us off to school still in her nightie. Even now I can call her at 10 or 11 o'clock and she will tell me that she's not dressed yet.

 It's not good. Even when I come down, as I do every day, to a waiting cup of coffee and a bowl of porridge, time just seems to slip through my fingers if I don't have those proper shoes on before breakfast. This has been what has been happening more frequently over the last few weeks, starting insidiously at first with the occasional lapse put down to the temperature, and building up gradually. The diary I have been writing since January so I could keep track of time has been sitting in all its jolly redness on the bedside cabinet, unfilled apart from a note of what I have been reading. And as for the blog, well the routine is all but broken. Resistant to opening the laptop  to avoid being waylaid by emails from Toast, Bloglovin and the quick crossword, the day rolls on into other obligations. Then once the light has faded, my eyes have to work harder in lamplight despite new specs and our unheated bedroom, just warm and bright enough to read, is no longer conducive to composition.

I fear these are all weak excuses. Sitting comfortably as I am now in front of the fire, one cat waiting patiently for supper, another sitting by the radiator, the half-painted kitchen (walls and ceiling: tick; everything else to do) a reminder of my indolence, I know that there is only one reason for this laxity. I don't get up in the morning and put on those lace-up shoes first thing.


the veg artist said...

I have no problem in getting fully dressed each day, always before breakfast, but I do feel that I should make more of an effort with what I wear. I favour the practical to the point of being scruffy, and have fallen into the 'same old, same old' rut with my clothes.

colleen said...

Ha! You've inspired me to write up my Factory Dress adventures, at last.

I find clothes interesting, and spend far too much time deciding exactly what to wear. If I don't get it right - which some days can mean dressing to the point of pantomime - I can end up feeling strangely off kilter. When I stopped working in an office I decided quite deliberately not to dress down unless I was gardening, and so I wear dresses or skirts every day. It's been an entertainment of sorts.

Liz said...

Since I left work, I often find myself wondering how it got so late so soon and with the proverbial pot still unwashed. And I think I need longer shoelaces.

VP said...

I think I need to adopt this as my New Year Resolution.

And I usually don't 'do' NYRs, but I'm often to be found blogging away in my PJs...

SmitoniusAndSonata said...

Heavens ! I don't even bother to put on one of those bizarrely popular grown-up onesies* ... why would anyone over the age of three want to wander about dressed as a rabbit ? ... but I couldn't eat breakfast in lace-up shoes .
Actually , I only wear shoes outside anyway .
* But yes , I do wear a dressing gown !