A date with Sarah-Kate; Kate’s home truths

How Sarah-Kate shakes off a mad mood

Have you ever had that feeling, about this time of the year, when it seems like you’ve been running on life’s hamster wheel ever since Christmas but a new festive season is nearly upon you and how on earth is that even possible?

Me too. I call it Mid-seasonal Apathy Disorder. Like all my problems, it’s a first-world one but I specialise in those, so what the hey?

Most of the year, I am a person who can be bothered. Whether it’s going out for dinner, spring-cleaning the pantry, walking on the beach, catching a movie, keeping up to date with my workload – I’m naturally a doer. Until MADness hits.

Then I don’t want to get out of bed. I’m hard to jazz up. I can’t be fanged doing a darn thing. The Ginger, who usually complains that he spends half his life standing around listening to me talk to complete strangers, suddenly started begging me to find some complete strangers to talk to. But I couldn’t be bothered.

Then he had the bright idea of sending me across the Tasman to visit my BFF Gwennie – an effervescent Energiser bunny whose enthusiasm never fails to rub off on those around her. But the thought of going to an airport – which usually thrills me to bits – made me want to lie down and go to sleep.

I checked the weather in Sydney. It was as miserable as it was at home. No, I told my beloved, I’m going down the garden to eat worms.

“Have you checked your savings account?” he asked slyly. “You have shopping money.”

Hmm. OK. That worked. Two days later, I was winging my way to Gwennie’s, only to find out she had a case of the MADs as well. But here’s the thing – being MAD with your bestie is totally different to being MAD on your own.

Sure, we talk on the phone and text from our opposite sides of the ditch, but the hamster wheel actually stops when you’re sitting opposite your buddy doing some realtime connecting.

Normally when I’m in Sydney, we hit the beach, the shops, the restaurants and the cocktail bars. But on this occasion, as the wind howled and the rain poured down, we lay on the sofa in our Ugg boots eating crisps and binge-watching Netflix. A small amount of rosé was taken, but nothing to write home about.

We yakked. We slept. We talked about what we’d eat next. We made one dash from the house so I could go to one shop and exploit my savings account before the Ginger worked out I’d cheered up and put me in fiscal lockdown.

And that was pretty much it. Seventy-two hours after I arrived, I was winging my way back home again. But I had a spring in my step and a wiggle in my walk (possibly crisprelated) and I left my MADness floating in the clouds somewhere above the Tasman. A good friend, a change of scene – and I’m me again.

* Full disclosure: I can never be bothered springcleaning the pantry.