I need a PA. I have ballsed up one too many times this week meaning that the house is full of sighs and slowly shaking heads. The balls that are usually juggled with vary degrees of efficiency have adopted a random and unpredictable trajectory bouncing off the walls at all angles. Only a highly trained Ninja would have any hope of catching them all. So, I have reached the conclusion that I need a PA.
Obviously I am not going to get a PA. I mean, that would just be ridiculous. I am not the CEO of a multi-million pound business venture, nor am I a doctor scheduling every 10 minutes into appointment slots. I not even a mum with eleven children. And yet…
Party invitations, school events, the other half’s away-from-home dates, the random appointments for dentists and chimney sweeps, the PTA meetings, all are coming at me from a variety of directions. They are combining to create a massive, tangled scribble. If I manage to extract one end then another disappears into the web, tightening knots in response.
I DO actually have a calendar, and a diary, so you would have thought I would be effortlessly efficient and timely. However, it appears that I forget to use them. Or I have that annoying situation where I write an appointment down in my diary but then forget to transfer it to the calendar which means that Steve books something else in at the same time because, of course, that time is available. Even though it isn’t. *sigh*.
A digital diary could be the solution but I’m old school, I like the therapeutic flow of committing a date to paper. Your hand forming the letters and numerals, imprinting the appointment to your memory. And anyway, storing future movements on mobile media fills me with dread; I know it is highly unlikely but the possibility of some weirdo hacking into my calendar and tracking my family’s comings and goings spooks me enough to not want to try it.
So, we come back to the thought that maybe I really do need a PA. Anyone want to help me form an argument to run past the husband?
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