107. Messy girl

For five minutes every morning I allow myself to pretend that I am slick and sophisticated and this face of makeup is going to last until home time. I'm going to clear my diary and probably suggest something so spectacular to the top dogs they name a conference room after me. 6 minutes later I'm still quite happy but quite prepared for my mess to take shape.
My names Laura and I am a messy girl.

Sure, I clean the flat to an obsession, I wash my hair 5 days out of 7, but what's in my handbag? A YSL lipstick, my tube pass, work phone, a million receipts, screwed up pieces of paper, tampon wrappers, gum folded up into tissues. It's this hidden mess you need to look out for.
The hidden mess of junk food wrappers I pretend someone else must have eaten when I have less than a month to get into a bikini (one that isn't the size of a four man tent) The hidden messes I try to tidy away when someone asked how my weekend was and I pretend every single minute was wonderful and fabby and wow when really I spent 3 days being a complete cow while my parents suffered.

I love my job but underneath the to do lists and laptop cases work feels a bit of a mess. Not in the "nothing's going right" sense (although there have been a few FOR THE LOVE OF GOD WHY moments this week) An "I breathe my inbox" kind of mess.
Theres a work shaped mess of realisation that I have another 40 years of this left, that's right. 40 fricking years. And you know that report I sent over earlier? I have no idea what those tables I included actually mean but tomorrow I will present to the client and my god I better have a good explanation. Messy or what.

For the first time in over a year I recently started dating but I was busy at work, busy trying to keep awake past 9 pm every evening, busy enough to forget to make contact for 4 days at a time because he seemed to be playing it cool and it genuinely did slip my mind until I was already tucked up and switched off for the night- by which time making peace with my phone and yet another screen just didn't appeal. There is nothing messier than a million "saw I hadn't replied..." messages and needless to say I still only share my bed with my beloved iPad, a book or two and the tv remote.

And then the exboy stayed for a couple of nights for a couple of weeks while he got to grips with his new job and the new commute in town. It was lovely but brought a whole new physical mess, two pairs of shoes kicked off at the end of the day, two dinner plates on the side, the window wide open because he found my flat too warm and a pile of clothes at the foot of my bed from where I was too cold. At some point this real life, should pick it up and clean it type mess stopped bothering me. His clothes draped over the sofa for two weeks untouched by my previously prying hands proved that.
Real life mess is fine though, there's always an evening with a mop to sort that out. Like I said, it's the hidden messes you need to look out for.

There's laundry in the machine that's been on two runs because I haven't bothered to take the washing out to dry, I spent this evening writing lists of what lists I need to create tomorrow and as the boiler has broken I washed my hair over the sink with ice cold water, a milk jug and a mouth full of obscenities.

I'm left wondering if I should embrace the mess or whether it's time to call the cleaners after all.