Chaos Thoery

Suddenly realised it’s been over a month since I last worked out. I’ve been winging it the last few months, munching my way through all manner of naughty things, not seeing a difference on the scale and therefore thinking that somehow my body has miraculously found a way to process chocolate in the same way as salad. I am by no means fat, but I fall in the slim but squidgy category and if left to it’s own devices for too long my body starts to look like it’s wearing skin that’s two sizes too big. So with Halloween looming and a potentially revealing costume on the dressmakers dummy, I need to firm up after my weeks of decadence, and need to find a way of getting my ass back up to where it should be without having to suffer the indignity of ass bra pants. But although I have previously had spells of high energy, getting up at 6am to work out now that the mornings are getting colder and darker is not something I feel I can do with any enthusiasm.

So I need to find a way of working exercise into my day to day life. And I’m not just talking about walking more. I need to get the equivalent intensity of one of my Turbofire or Insanity workouts into my day (because frankly, any less than that and I’ll have to order the ass bra). So I have started doing bursts of running on the walk to and from school (tried this a couple of times, weird how the Son’s love to run away from me, but as soon as I do it to them they start crying and complaining of having no energy), lunges at the washing machine, butt clenches at the kitchen sink, pelvic floors in the car and plenty of arm workouts while I’m working at the bookshop. And there’s no reason why this won’t work. Generations of people managed to keep in shape without lycra, workout DVD’s and hideously expensive gym memberships.

Then it got me thinking. I could do this with lots of things I never get around to. Little and often gets the job done apparently. Housework could be the next thing on my list. If I managed to spread all these jobs across the day I would soon have a very calm and ordered existence. And there lies the problem.

I have come to the conclusion that I am happiest when under pressure. This might sound weird coming from someone who hates exams, had weeks of sleepless nights before her driving test and has hideously disorganised cupboards (not to mention drawers constantly spewing clothing like a drunken tramp after a bottle of meth). But I have spent many, many, many years beating myself up about how chaotic I am, desperately trying to become the calm and unruffled person with the organised and ordered home that I long to be. But I have learned that trying to fit yourself into a hole that is the wrong shape is hard. And although I maybe flappy and dizzy and messy and living in a perpetual state of chaos, it suits me because living this way makes me happy.

I have had a run of days where I just don’t see how I am going to fit everything in, and when that happens, as always the first thing to be left out (for me anyway), is the housework. It is far more important to me to get the kids to their play dates, get myself to work and my evening with friends and catch up with people who need a chat than it is to get the house tidy.

And it’s not just housework either. My whole life; my finances, yet another piece of household paper work through the door screaming “action me” and thrown carelessly atop the teetering mountain that is my filing system and mummy duties so often seem to end up feeling like a big tangle of necklaces that need to be unravelled. But like a tangled ball of necklaces and bracelets, when you sit down to attempt the impossible, with a bit of effort you manage it, bit by bit. And with the neat pile of necklaces laid out in front of you comes the biggest sense of satisfaction (no matter that they will get tangled again the minute you turn your back). And it’s that sense of achievement, satisfaction and adrenalin rush of getting something done that I am addicted to.

It must be bloody boring to have a really ordered life. Where is the satisfaction? Where are the adrenalin rushes? Without the struggles we can never really appreciate life. And that’s how I feel about my chaotic life. I love it feeling like a tangle because of the satisfaction I get from untangling things. I appreciate my home all the more when it’s clean and tidy because it means I have sorted it. I appreciate the moments when my to do list is a happy page of scribbled out notes because I can see that I have got things done. But if your home and your life are always neat and tidy, if you somehow manage to work a decent exercise routine into your day, every day, week after week, year after year, I don’t see how you could ever get a buzz from it.

I like my chaotic life. And I can’t imagine anything worse than having an ordered life. I like waking up in the morning and not really knowing who I’m going to be that day. Messy or neat, flappy or calm, you decide. But I have to be organised and get this exercise in for the next two weeks at least, because I really don’t want to have to wear an ass bra.