It’s nearly sundown and it’s become clear to me that I may not have had the most productive day.

I mean, I don’t think I need to present this statement with much evidentiary support (thanks for that lingo, Legally Blonde). I feel it’s almost indisputable that I’ve been a sloppy human being today. I can say this because I’m currently sitting on the couch watching live footage of a train making its way from Adelaide to Darwin.

But in an effort to be thorough and justified in my judgemental ways, I’m going to do more than say “I could have been less of a pile of shit today”. I’m going to back up this conclusion with facts. With figures. With the cold, hard truth.

Conveniently, this allows me to present a full-length Sunday blog post to you in the form of easy-to-write dot points.

So please, enjoy this brief summary of the meaningless, uneventful passing of hours that I call my Sunday:

Number of teas consumed: three. But it’s only 5.30pm and there is rain forecast for this evening, so I expect this number to increase.

Percentage of a whole cake eaten: based on my educated guess, using skills I’ve not properly exercised since my last Year 12 maths exams eight years ago, I’m going to stay 17%. Although, I must point out, my maths skills haven’t done so much as a single half-arsed, limp-limbed star jump in all those years and is probably more than a little on the flabby side.

Days past the best before date that cake was: Only one. Which essentially means it’s still good as new. And if there’s one thing that ages well, it’s got to be fresh cream.

Number of steps taken: according to my phone, 199. I’m going to try to keep it under 500. Because I’m a woman with goals.

Number of pyjama sets I’ve worn: two. This first was a nightie with the face of a Saint Bernard on it, the second is a mismatched combo of a pair of Christmas bottoms and a shirt I bought from the Humpty Doo pub last year. I always get compliments on this shirt when I wear it in public – mind you, these compliments come from baby boomer blokes with sock tans who “could tell you a story or two” about the infamous establishment. I’m not going to lie, I do love it. It helps to make up for the number of social connections I’ve burned by using the C word too often.

Sometimes I wonder what kind of position I’d be if I weren’t so uncouth, and what costs I’d unknowingly incurred simply by being my crass self. My unconscious, it seems, reckons it cost me a shot at the crown. I had a dream the other night where I had been in a deep, passionate relationship with Prince Harry, but ultimately made the choice to leave him because I knew I was too free-spirited to be tamed by the royal family. Even though it hurt me to do so, I walked away because I didn’t want him to have to choose between me or his family. So I ran off into the horizon, silhouetted by the setting sun – heartbroken, but free. When I woke up, I was convinced for a good 14 minutes that I was some kind of wild, bogan brumby of a woman who couldn’t be broken by the whips and harnesses of the English monarchy. It was weirdly empowering.

My other dreams are mostly about me trying to drive a car from the back seat, trying to pull of a manoeuvre like that episode of Mr Bean where he buys an armchair and tries to drive it home from the roof of his comical mini.

Number of times I’ve listened to Smoko by The Chats: five. I would buy a t-shirt from these guys, but the bastards haven’t got any available at the moment. Fark, I’d bloody love a “Smoko” branded lunchbox to take to work, but they don’t exist either. Someone needs to get these boys on the blower and sort this out.

Percentage of the day spent in bed: I reckon a good 73%.

Bras worn: Zero.

Shoes worn: Zero.

* Bonus round of rapid-fire questions to beef out this blog post *

Reading: Moby Dick. A wise fellow recommended that I read this.

Watching: Barbie: Life in the Dreamhouse. I recommended that I watch this.

It’s on Netflix, in case you are wondering.

Listening to: the songs I have saved in my iTunes account, funnily enough. I keep going over my data, so I’m cutting back on Spotify.

Dinner plans: considering I didn’t go grocery shopping today and all the leftover food I’d been surviving on all week is now gone, I’m guessing the menu will feature toast with a thin spread of vegemite and a thick layer of bitter self-resentment.

Goal for next week: to send out last year’s Christmas cards… which I have still yet to write.