Get your shit together.



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current contents of handbag

I always admire people who really seem to have their shit together. You know the ones, the folk who are in control of all facets of their life. Who could, if required, run workshops on efficiency? I would so sign up!

There are all sorts of stores springing up to help you get your shit together, and hoards of people purchasing cutely designed notepads and lists created to ease your heavy burdens. Which is all very well and good, but once you leave the store they wipe their hands of their responsibility as the reins of control are handed back over to you.

And you promptly forget why you just dropped $30 on a pad of paper that sticks on your fridge. You actually have to write on it, lovingly tick things off and pat yourself smugly on your back for being so terribly organized.

Or you can be like me, falling through the days making up excuses for the fact that you are so lamely disorganized.

I for one am sick of living like this. So I have dug around to try and come up with a plan to follow, so I can start getting my shit together.


From now on I am going to open mail in a timely fashion and “action” it. I am going to read school notes as they come in and “action” them. I am going to dedicate a section of the day to respond to emails, which is another way to say “action” stuff.


This is a time to reflect on my person and take care of any areas that require attention. Maintenance Monday might see me de-fuzzing my legs, tending to my feeble but insistent moustache and a plethora of any other strange and wonderful faults that my body throws at me. Maintenance Monday might also be the lucky day that I might wash my hair.


I am not just talking about the third drawer down in the kitchen, I advocate looking at all areas of your life and do a ruthless and unwavering cull. Apart from physical belongings, cull toxic people who are taking up space in your life. Serial pests tend to breed if you don’t keep them in check.

Take for instance our neighbor, who ironically lives on a battle-axe block at the back of our place. She is a serial pest who likes to yell at people, including myself. She is famous in our hood.

Recently when I ran into her and she started in on me. I calmly told her that I did not enjoy our little exchanges and that if she needed to tell me something, best she pops a note in the letterbox from now on. Problem sorted.


I am slowly becoming more prepared. I even bought an umbrella the other day when the sun was shining, small enough to fit into my handbag, as I am sick of being caught out in the rain. Small things, people, are appreciated at times that you least expect. Like carrying Zovirax, Band Aids and Panadol, as well as little packets of tissues.

How many times have you heard “Has anyone got a tissue?”

I am going to be that person. And it is going to be great. I can barely contain my smug excitement.


No longer will I open the milk and almost pass out from the cheesy, stinky waft that comes with milk, partying way past it’s used by date. Nor am I going to kid myself that if I fill the fridge with raw veggies and fancy-ass lettuce, I will actually become a beacon of health.

Now that I have an ap installed on my phone, the bins will be dragged out onto the street at the correct time and date.

Ruth Field, Author of Get Your Sh!t together, has a simple question for you.

What’s in your handbag?

  • To Do lists scrawled on the back of receipts
  • An unpaid bill
  • Half a chocolate bar, covered in fluff

Is your handbag a metaphor for the rest of your life?

I am a beaten up old leather satchel hiding 7 lipsticks, paper from mints and lollies, a broken wallet, Rescue Remedy, a charger from a phone I used to own in the 90’s and a lonely, single cotton ear bud which I suspect is the source of the fluff. One day I will be a shining, luxurious Chanel baguette with small compartments that house thoughtfully placed necessities.

Small steps people. Small steps.

On the scale of one to ten, (one being the lowest and ten being the highest) where do you rate yourself on the GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER scale?

And if you can, please leave a tip to help me get my shit sorted. There’s a dear xx