A comprehensive list of things I don't have time to do.

Busy, busy, busy. If we didn’t spend so much time talking about how busy we are, we might not be so busy.

The last time you asked someone how they were, this is what they said: “Oh, you know,” eye roll. “BUSY.”

Yes, you’re busy. But if you don’t have kids and a job and a partner, and book week, and sports day, and meals to make, and Facebook to scroll, and did I mention a job, and a home, and friends, and exercise you’re not doing right now, you are not as busy as I am. So there.

I don’t want to be busy any more. My new favourite fantasy involves having half an hour to lie in a small windowless room where no-one can call my name or touch me. I know, it’s hot.

Fine. Tie me up. Then leave me the hell alone.

I can not remember the last time there was an hour in my life when I didn’t have 25 things I should be doing. Call it being a grown-up. Blame the children. Whatever. But it’s time to acknowledge the things that out impossibly busy lives have left behind. Some are no loss at all, while some, some are worth mourning. Or they would be, if I had the time.


Let’s face it, no great loss. But sometimes,  I actually lose my youngest child under a mountain of unfolded washing. Still in a time-poor household, the bare minimum will suffice, and the extra minutes employed doing something that’s actually fun. Like drawing in dust.

Keep on top of personal upkeep.

It’s Winter, so it’s fine to only shave your ankles rather than the entire leg, right? Mind you, I did the same thing in Summer, when I also often only painted the toenails you could see when I had my sandals on. That’s the first two toes. Which is classy. One day, again, I will have time to tidy an eyebrow, or pluck an errant chin hair. Until then, just SORRY.


Watch a terrible movie.

If I have two hours to spare to commit to an actual film, it had better be worth the investment. “So bad it’s good”? Kicks for kids.


Is that an onion in the shape of bunny ears? FFS. Seriously.

Talk on the phone.

There is a reason all mothers communicate by text. Yes, it might actually take longer to type than talk, but nobody’s got time for niceties and small talk any more. Actually, not ALL mothers communicate by text. Your mother is probably the only person you do still talk to on the phone.

Listen to your office gossip.

I am on a clock, people. I have to LEAVE this place. When I get home there is a whole other job to be done, and it’s running at full-tilt towards the looming deadline of BEDTIME. And while I know it’s really interesting that Abby from accounts side-eyed you in the kitchen for using lite instead of soy, I just can’t get into it right now. Or, you know, ever.

Nope. Just nope. Pic:

Go paleo.

Do you know how long it takes to grate a cauliflower? Do you know how long it takes to ferment something? No, neither do I, but I’m almost certain it’s longer than it takes to make a piece of vegemite toast, which can be done in a very tidy four minutes, and for three of those you can do something else while the toaster does its glorious work.


Binge watch.

To my eternal disgrace, I still haven’t finished Season 3 of Orange Is The New Black. I know people who were done in a day. Are they watching it on double-speed? Who has 12 spare hours to do nothing but gaze upon Ruby Rose, and where do they keep that kind of time?

Have a Twitter war.

This is me logging onto Twitter: ‘Oh look, all these interesting people are here. Hi. Hi. Hi.’ Then I get pulled away, and by the time I return, typically, the interesting people have moved on. Hey, doesn’t anyone want to fight about Orange Is The New Black any more?

Currently Ben Mendelsohn in Bloodline is distracting me from reading. One episode at a time. Pic: Netflix.


Read a book.

A great loss. A seriously great loss. I have been a voracious reader since I was 6, and novels have brought me happiness and inspiration that is impossible to measure, but I’ve barely read a book that wasn’t meant for a child in two years. Time is my excuse, but chronic distraction might be closer to the real reason. Who can commit to a book when there are iPhones by the bed, Netflix on every screen and a book week costume that needs to be made by tomorrow. Oh, the irony.

What do you just not have time for any more? 

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