Time

Where does all the time go? I work performance managing commissioners and providers of healthcare and today I spent all day focussing on winter planning (the aporkalypse is a-comin’ gentle reader) and reviewing maternity services at a local hospital – a process that overran by a whopping three hours and resulted in a long 14 hour day.

I like working hard; the demands of my job plus background research and personal development are… fine. I really like it. I’ve spent 8 years in healthcare slowly climbing up the greasy pole so I suppose that’s my career! And I want to progress further.

I also have a small micro-business which ticks over. The credit crunch has hurt and it’s very much a loss leader at the moment but things are getting better. Building that has been on the back burner and I haven’t really been able to meet the needs of my clients recently. Yet I prefer to think of it not as a hobby but something with real potential.

Managing all this and being in a relationship is, nevertheless, hugely challenging. I like a challenge. But it does occur to me that I have no time any more. I really don’t know how mums do it. Really.

Fella spends three or four nights at mine per week and I love that. Weekends are all his, and we’ll often go out Wednesday night too. Wednesdays or Thursdays tend to be my ‘business’ day but whether working for my boss or just for me, I like to be up between 5:00 and 6:00am and I won’t get home before 7:00pm. I like to go swimming twice a week (Mondays and Thursdays) and I want to expand my fitness regime around that. Plus I take work home in the evenings too, and I need to do a lot of ongoing learning and research. That pretty much leaves Tuesday nights as my quiet/catchup time. All of this varies with an active social life sans Fella of course...

Time management is not one of my problems. Though I dare but whisper it I suspect being a plain old ordinary human type being might be… Or maybe it’s just massive sleep deprivation primarily caused not by early starts but an inability to say ‘no’ to the offer of another drink.

In darker moments of introspection I wonder if I have really achieved so far. I’ve friends who’ve moved to China, Australia, America; got married and had kids; worked abroad. But I’ve always believed that hard work and sheer sticktoitiveness will pay dividends (like a good protestant should). All part of the process of becoming *shudder* a proper grown up Frumpella, methinks. I need to sit down and really, really plan ahead. My five year plan. Like Stalin. Except I’m not growing the moustache. Unless evil communist bastard chic becomes the next big thing.

In the meantime I shall keep the pink flag flying here, and be a tired but cheerful - and surprisingly happy - fairy.