At a RAZR's pace

Ever have that dream where you’re running up a hill (wearing stilettos), juggling a tennis ball, a water bottle and a monkey and you’re late, late for a very important date?

No?

It must be just me then. It might have something to do with the fact that my diary is marked up with appointments between now and 2010 and that I still try to squeeze in time (and favours) for every Tom, Dick and Sherry who bats their puppy dog eyes at me. The calendar in my trusty Motorola RAZR is pushed to its capacity with daily reminders: call X, email Y, see Z and at 11.15pm, ‘wash hair’.

My flatmates find the latter hilarious. One night they were watching telly – I having just returned home from yet another babysitting gig and already in the shower – and they called out that my phone was buzzing. Eager for me not to miss an important call B picked up my phone to find my personal-hygiene reminder flashing on its screen. G found it pretty funny too. Now without fail whenever my phone chimes the two of them scream out shampoo advice and directions on how to rinse.

Okay, so it seems pretty sad to have to remind oneself to wash their hair but with the speed that my life is going right now I might soon have to remind myself to eat and breathe. Working 9 to 5 is one thing but filling in jobs and friends either side, Pilates and freelancing there’s too much going on in my poor little head; too many thoughts, too many duties, too many people relying on me not to forget them.

And yet I wonder if I’m doing myself a disservice? Am I increasing my likelihood of developing early Alzheimer’s? After all I don’t trust myself to remember anything these days… What will happen the day I forget my phone at home? I shudder (to a halt) at the thought.