Don’t know about you guys but day 3 of 2016 is prettttty wild where I’m standing. The lights are flickering on and off in my house so I’m feeling nicely epileptic and I just squeezed an open tin of tuna all over myself making brine the scent of the day. Delish. See this is what happens when you volunteer to make lunch for everyone to avoid filing your tax return. Lucky for me it doesn’t matter if I smell like fish all weekend because I have zero plans except FILING MY GOD DARN TAX RETURN.
January means something different to everyone. For some, it’s the month to be super nice to yourself, hibernating until spring with all seven Harry Potters and an electric blanket. For those of you with your priorities straight, it’s the annual dry-athlon, lists of revolutions, diet plans, gym memberships, making best friends with kale and using meditation to persuade yourself that dates taste like chocolate.
Whether you see it as looking after yourself or pure self-punishment January is the month for getting your life in order and ready for the year ahead. Unfortunately, though, there are a select and sorrowful bunch of us who can do neither. We are those who’ve spent eleven months living in denial only to wake up on the 2nd January and remember we can’t possibly join a gym because we have to spend the next 29 days looking for all our receipts. You’d be mad to think we’d join the sober and sugar-free. Alcohol and chocolate are the only clear way to the end of the month with some degree of sanity, and unfortunately if we stay under the duvet revelling in Horcruxes we’ll get
sent to Azkaban fined.
This is because January, if you’re hopeless at being self-employed or leaving everything until last minute because you such a rebel gurl, is a month dedicated to your bae, HMRC. This means spreadsheets, ticking boxes, realising how little you earn as an ‘artist’, wondering why you haven’t married an accountant yet, and re-registering on the government gateway once a day when you forget your password for the umpteenth time. Yesterday, seven and a half hours after I promised myself I’d have a quick look at the form, I’d succeeded in ticking no to all the boxes that have words I don’t understand in (I’m guessing they don’t apply to me?) and that’s it.
Whilst the sensible part of me is a huge failure, there is a pretty smug side of my brain commending me on my procrastination skills. My tax return is there to remind me that I have the attention span of a fly on acid but I can achieve greatness when I’m not covered in tuna. Yesterday I bought three lottery tickets, for when I inevitably won and could pay someone to fill the rest of my tax return in. I put my hair in a bun, googled the price of Scrabble, cleaned every surface twice, made twelve cups of tea, burst some remaining balloons from NYE and washed.
Pretty hard to beat but today is another day and I boiled an egg so things are looking up, especially my protein levels. So because I’ve been the very essence of productivity of late, I thought I’d map out some ideas of what I can get done in the next 28 days, leaving enough time to quickly whizz up a spreadsheet in the last minute and glide gracefully into the next eleven months of financial freedom.
So my plans for the rest of the month are looking something like this…
- Perhaps learning to cut my own hair
- Persuading Ed to become an accountant so this never happens again
- Mild exercise, like chewing celery or finger painting
- Walking around the park near other people’s dogs and pretending they’re mine
- Thinking about courgetti
- Using my favourite words more often, especially “toggle” and “spiralizer”
- Looking up the definition of “basic bitch” so I stay in the loop
- Experimenting with my wardrobe, and by my wardrobe I obviously mean my pyjamas
I’m actually fairrrrly short on time because the wiser side of me decided to become an employee last September meaning I go to work every day. So I need to start watching hair tutorials pronto if I’ve got any hope. To any other woebegone creatives on the government gateway, please remember receipts don’t define you and this is the reason wine was invented. So drink up.