One of these Sundays I’m going to be well prepared, well rested and calmly preparing for the week ahead.

This Sunday is not one of those Sundays.

No, this Sunday is the same as all the others – I’m scrambling to pull a blog post out of my arse, I’m so tired that I’m dizzy and the thought of having to be productive tomorrow makes me feel as though I’m going to throw up.

Yet another day of sunshine and promise that I’ve gone and squandered. Sure, I did my washing and cleaned my bathroom. I did my grocery shopping. I put my car up for sale (if you know anyone looking to pay too much for a piece of junk on wheels, please, DM me). I even made my lunches for the next two days.

And yet, I still feel as though I wasted my day. Maybe that’s because I told someone at work I was aiming to finish Moby Dick this weekend and all I did was watch Pretty Little Liars, or maybe it’s because feeling like a failure on a Sunday is a symptom of our modern society.

But while I may not have been able to tick off everything from the overly ambitious to do list I wrote for myself today, I’m determined to tick off “update blog”, even if the item would have been more appropriately labelled as “shart out a bare minimum blog post that communicates just how much of a steaming pile of garbage your life is right now”.

So here is my attempt to meet that bare minimum criteria.

I’m going to recount my evening to you in objects – objects which, in retrospect, symbolise where I’m at in my life at the moment. So here are three things that represented my Sunday. Prepare to feel much better about yourself!

A dying scented candle: It smells fabulous, but it is at its wick’s end. There’s about half a centimetre of wax left in it and the flame really struggles to stay alight. I lit it to give me a sense of calm and decadence. And while it may be a futile attempt to make me feel like a put-together woman who knows how to take care of herself, at least it’s an attempt.

It’s not just a candle, but a scent assertion that I’m trying my best.

A used pore strip: I know I’m not alone in getting a kick out of seeing the stacks of gunk these things rip out of your nose skin. Seeing those juicy pillars of grime is almost orgasmic in a way that is difficult to describe. It scratches a sick, twisted itch you didn’t know you had and are now scared to explore any further in case it takes you to a dark place from which you can never return.

Unfortunately, my pore strip bore disappointing results. The tiny gunk towers were few and far between, and were very bland in colour. It was barely gross at all.

And I know this must mean that my skin is relatively clear and I should be happy with that, and I am. Yay for me. But at the same time, I feel let down.

I wanted grime. I wanted filth. I want to marvel at just how disgusting I was. Instead I have clear skin and the sticky residue of disappointment stuck to the bridge of my glasses.

A sad bowl of Cornflakes: I mean, the individual Cornflakes aren’t sad themselves. Considering they are comprised of processed corn, sugar, salt and barley malt extract, I highly doubt they have the capacity to feel anything all – let alone being able to articulate the complexities of dread and longing.

No, the bowl of Cornflakes is sad because of what it represents.

Because a bowl of Cornflakes at 8.30pm on a Sunday is more than just a bowl of cereal. It’s that a bowl of Cornflakes is considered a pick-me-up – what level of pathetic is it when a bland cereal is the shining light in your evening? How bleak do things have to be for a bowl of Cornflakes to be considered an extravagance?

It goes deeper than cereal, man. I put my hope in corn-based carbs to fill me up both literally and figuratively.

But then I remembered that the Queen of England – and, I suppose, me if you think about it – eats Cornflakes every single day. And she apparently doesn’t even them out of a bowl. She uses a “yellow Tupperware container”, or so the rumour goes. And say what you will about monarchy and the concept of colonialism, but being able to say that the meal I had was quite literally fit for a queen gives it a bit more of a sheen to it.