You know that saying about forgetfulness where people look sorry for you and murmur, “Tsk, if your head wasn’t screwed on…!”? That was me from last Friday through to Tuesday. The forgetfulness plague began on Friday morning with me returning to the apartment to pick up something I’d forgotten but still forgetting it anyway. Leaving my mobile phone behind (in restaurants mostly) three times in three days. Having to set myself timed reminders for everything from trivial to important – the critical items were things no one in her right mind would’ve forgotten – but there you have it: I was not in my right mind.

The 3.5 day-event we had been planning since the start of the year was finally upon us, and the lead-up was full of the usual stresses, sleep deprivation, long days of not having enough time no matter how early you started or ended your day, sleep deprivation, fretting about things I really couldn’t care less about in ‘normal’ life and passing that on by being an almost-unreasonable client, sleep deprivation, people needing/wanting more more more, sleep deprivation, last minute confirmations/cancellations/changes with no regard to cost or complexity, sleep deprivation, waking with a racing heart in a hot sweat literally drenched and having to throw the sheets off for fear of suffocation, sleep deprivation, the video-filming exercise (27 in total) on the side, sleep deprivation, the new website launch to synch with the event, sleep deprivation… (They do this to spies, enemies of the state, prisoners of war, don’t they?)

It’s over now. And it was judged generally to be a success by the firm and our delegates. Many told me the event organisation was the best it had been for years. I hope I don’t forget this feeling of having contributed to something excellent, winning and significant.

(I really wanted to post yesterday because it was 21.11.12 -palindrome nerd alert!- but I wasn’t able to think beyond dinner and falling asleep on the sofa.)


The Luna Park ‘face’ doesn’t exactly match Luna, goddess of the Moon, does it? Did the person responsible get confused with ‘loony’ instead?

It’s late. I’m sitting in the dark with my Mac, thinking about the day that was, watching the twinkling lights in the distance, thinking about the day that will be tomorrow.

Switch off, switch off. Switch. Off. Willing myself. Knowing that sitting in front of the screen is not one of the things recommended for those who are chasing sleep.



I’m supposed to be practising deep breathing – in through the nose, out through the mouth – for five minutes, three times, daily. I got this instruction on Monday… so far it’s been a fail. I haven’t had time to stop, much less spend five minutes during the day to inhale-exhale in a mindful mode, all in the name of Cortisol reduction, also known as de-stressing.

High up in the tower… Air… Must. Remember. To. Breathe.


With the photo, two stories…

The first and frivolous one is: the colour is Dragon (Shade 475) by Chanel. Both the manicurist and I agreed that the colour is classic and probably one of the best reds in the history of nail shades, but the brush is diabolique. If Chanel could fix, nay, make their brush more like O.P.I.’s brush, I/she/we would probably wear Chanel on our nails more regularly. The brush is too long and too stiff. It sucks, it’s the devil. Hello, Chanel, are you listening?

The second and serious story is: I haven’t got the eye for detail or concentration at the moment. I made a serious enough error at work on Monday, which really, I could’ve done without. I had to recall an email to 250 (+/-) recipients, and we all know that the so-called recall function should in fact be be renamed “Let’s All Highlight Your Monumental Fuck-Up, Shall We?” My doctor has told me to take fish oil to help my brain, and I am trying to work on sleeping better so that I don’t wake up feeling like death warmed up and doing stupid things in my waking hours. (Besides a whole raft of Other Things.) In the meantime, it takes me twice as long to read anything, and as for sending emails, I’m re-re-re-reading them before I click ‘Send’. It’s irritating, to say the least. But not as irritating as the A4 sheet of ‘Sleep Better’ instructions I have received. Some of them are, hmm, going to be tough. For instance, I’m not supposed to eat after 7pm, or read in bed. REALLY? I don’t know anyone who has a real job who eats before 7pm regularly or easily. I’m not supposed to exercise after 6.30pm either. Again, REALLY??! I’m not even going to nudge ‘No reading in bed’ with the proverbial six-foot barge pole.

Needless to say, I was so glad to see the arrival of Friday that the first thing I did this morning was get myself the paint-job. Amen.