Finding time

Don't get all excited..I am not about to announce the discovery of a bunch of time I've found lying around in a cupboard somewhere.  There are still, or were when I last checked, only 24 hours in the day and as yet no possibility of that being extended.  What I am questioning here is where does it all go and how can I make more?  Seriously.  Just as the conundrum of 24 socks entering the washing machine and only 21 coming back out, I desperately want to know why the day inevitably finishes before I do.  It certainly isn't because I waste my time lazing around, well not often anyway.  Maybe I just underestimate how full life is when caring for four dependants (bordering on five).

Got a call today from an agency wanting me to consider a temporary contract in Birmingham.  Pays really well so I didn't want to say an outright NO, even though the logistics of travelling there each day will be vast.  So I have agreed to an interview tomorrow but a part of me really hopes they are seeking a six foot blonde with a great rack, thus removing the decision from my shoulders.  I really hate this aspect of my life; trying to be the provider.  Hunter-gatherer is a look I don't carry off very well (unless the prey is chocolate).  Having said that I am equally unwilling/unable to live off state/family hand outs either without taking a serious dent to my pride, so I really have no choice.  But as Chris tells me "Work is a privilege," something which we usually fail to comprehend until the option is removed from us.  I can't wait for him to get a job now just so I can remind him of that every time he whines.  Privilege smivelige.

On that topic, saw a former work colleague today who appears to have met the man of her dreams: single, loaded, intelligent and handsome (I am placing them in my order of importance here), oh and healthy - which may or may not be a good thing depending on how much his estate's worth.  Apparently he is whisking her away for Valentines to his second property in the 'Knightsbridge' area of Budapest, taking her to an exclusive debutante ball, fully clad to the nines in designer gown (and looking super hot because she is a very foxy lady) so basically he sounds like the Prince Charming we all dreamt of stumbling upon some day.   I confess to a few pangs of jealousy at this point.  Why do we have to grow up to drop those childish dreams and end up married to someone more resembling Shrek?  Chris and I had a small quarrel tonight over the fact that I would like him to stop farting in my personal space.   Not exactly Shakespeare is it? 

Although I began my post complaining about lack of time, I do appreciate that I am able to sit here each night and update this blog, hence I must have some moments to spare, or kind of.  A few people have commented that perhaps I have too much!   I am finding though that taking a few minutes to examine myself (mentally) is highly therapeutic - verbalising thoughts and feelings is a form of catharsis allowing me to dump off all the cack I carry around.  Such eloquence don't you think.

So thanks for letting me dump folks.   Same time tomorrow?? x