I have an extra hour on my hands.

I mean, I don’t really, because you can’t just pull time out of thin air. I still have the same number of hours before my death. The minutes are still ticking. The countdown until my demise continues. But Daylight Savings has finally come to an end so I have the illusion of having a check extra hour in my back pocket. The clock in the kitchen is an hour ahead, and every time I look at it, it makes me think that I’ve been given the gift of an extra hour of time.

So far, I’ve not used it well.

I have been thinking that I would be really ahead of myself, getting all kinds of shit done with this check delusion of an extra 60 minutes. I thought I would be well into my relaxation phase after sending my column off and posting my blog and making some kind of delicious breakfast using the overripe bananas I hoarded at my desk all week after swiping them from the communal fruit bowl at work.

Well, I’m only just uploading this post, my column remains unwritten and the bananas are still attracting fruit flies on the bench.

So what have I done with this extra hour? I’ve had two extra cups of tea and checked the mail. That’s about the extent of my extra hour on the clock.

And sure, that’s been nice and all but I like to think I’d have something more to show for my extra time. I like to accomplish things. That’s why I wrote “check the mail” on my to do list today.

So I consulted an online listicle for better ways to spend the free 60 minutes I imagine I’ve been given today. I went with a men’s interest site by accident, but decided to stick with it even though the ads weren’t targeted towards me and the whole experience didn’t make me feel like I needed to lose weight.

So here’s how I could milk everything out of the udder of the illusionary hour, accordingly to The Internet:

Clear your email inbox: There’s no way I’d be able to completely do this in an hour. As someone who displays signs of early onset keeping stuff just in case disorder (my grandmother had it, so I assume it’s heredity), my hoarding isn’t restricted to the physical world. In fact you could argue that it is even more severe in the virtual world, as I have thousands of emails in my inbox I can’t being myself to delete in case I need them. I feel like tackling my inbox would include an emotional breakthrough, and I’m just not in the mood for turning a corner today.

Brainstorm: Well, that’s kind of what I’m doing now.

Keep a check on your competitors: Yep, they’re still better than me.

Google your name: I hate doing this. I’ve been working in the media for a few years now and still the first few articles that pop up are about Daniele McGuire, the girlfriend of alleged mobster Tony Mockbel. I don’t mind this too much, however, as she was played by Holly Valance in Underbelly. And while Holly’s singing career kind of died in the arse, she’s still a good looker.

Introspect: I spend my whole life doing this. No just a lousy 60 minutes.

Exercise: I’ve already done that, because I’m a responsible human being who cares about her health/bangability.

Make efforts to meet your role model: I’ve already met the guy behind the song that it is acceptable to drop your dacks to in a pub. I made him drink my shitty wine and sign my shoe.

I’ve already tried tweeting at Whoppie Goldberg to no avail.

So I guess I could go ahead and mail that letter I wrote to Mindy Kahling a year and a half ago – I still have it somewhere because I didn’t know where to send it. I wrote it during a time when I was leading a very solitary life (it was extremely solitary even by my standards, which is concerning) trying to start a thing about writing more letters saying nice things. Except looking back I was kind of going through a weird time so I don’t know if Mindy would be flattered or frightened by the letter.

Make a playlist: I don’t need any more playlists – I already have what I need. I have an ongoing one of my “starred” songs on Spotify, which includes all the fresh beats I come across to keep my up to speed with the trends. My others are categorised as “slightly depressing indie beatz” and “getting on the piss with dad”. They appeal to my “emotional but still better that you because I have exceptional taste in music you’ve never heard before” and “Queensland drunk” temperaments. I have no other moods to cater for.

Clean up your desktop: It’s always clean, because I’m not an animal. It has five folders: one for invoices (because I’m a side hustler who gets shit done); one called “necessary” for miscellaneous junk on my desktop that I feel the need to keep; one called “yeah, probs not” for miscellaneous junk on my desktop that I know I should delete but that I feel the need to keep; a folder called “alpacas” from the time I went to an alpaca farm and discovered it was also a meme farm; and a folder called “ducks” from the time I took pictures of a family of ducks crossing the road with the help of a delightful stop-go man.

I also have a few drafts neatly lined up to the right of my desktop, as well as four photos. One is of me and my two older sisters that is nostalgic enough for a throwback Thursday posts; one is my favourite picture of my little sister while clothed and therefore is the safe one to keep on my computer in case it is searched by the authorities; one is of my father’s father who we didn’t really know – it explains a lot about our family’s facial structure; and the other one is a picture someone took of me on someone’s shoulders at a Big Day Out concert to remind myself that I was once cool.

There is nothing that needs cleaning up on my desktop.

Catch up with old friends: Cougar Town reruns are for after I finish my blog posting.

Plan a vacation: Been there, done that, realised I was never going to afford happiness. A more productive use of my time would be uploading a profile on a sugar daddy website/scouting around on the deep, dark web for people who will pay top dollar for my used tissues for weird voodoo shit.

Read about successful people: I’ve already scrolled through Clive Palmer’s poetry this week. I’m going to go ahead and suggest you do the same – immediately.

Shop: This is only fun when you have legal tender to exchange for goods and/or services. I have a slab of slice I would be willing to trade for other items, but it seems most stores do not accept such currency.

Write about your journey so far: Does having three cups of tea and checking the mail count as a journey? If so, I’ve already done that.

Get to know your boss: I just realised that this was a listicle directed at killing an extra hour at work and therefore doesn’t apply to me. Thank heavens, because I am at home wearing pyjamas and no shoes and really didn’t feel like intruding on someone’s life today.