Half assed pledge to do less whining

Ebbs and flows, ups and downs.

Last week I felt great about myself and shit about where my life was going.

Today I feel shit about myself and not too worried at all about my life.

I have a lot of friends, a lot of people I enjoy, I’m still young enough to start something new and then when is anyone too old for anything? Whenever I beat myself up about my life and where I am it’s because I’m comparing myself to other people- other people whose lives I wouldn’t want anyway. I’d happily take their friday night putting 60 euros into a pub till without thinking is that nice wine too expensive, how will I pour this naggin of whiskey into my empty glass without anyone noticing, should I leave now or how will I get home, I can’t afford a taxi? 

I’d take THAT part of their lives. But I wouldn’t put in the 35 hours a week of sitting on a swivel chair in an air conditioned room for minimum wage and someone else’s interests. 

I wouldn’t do it for long anyway. 

I had a dream last night I was in a call centre and I was so fucking miserable throughout the dream. I had a dream a few nights ago that my parents’ dog and cat had turned rabid and wanted to kill me and I spent the whole night trying to lock my pets in a room without hurting them while they tried to tear chunks out of me. And that wasn’t my worst recent nightmare, the call centre one was much worse. 

I should stop eating cheese so late at night and maybe have a nice sex dream instead.

And then lately I’m getting sick of sex. Not sex itself, just the… I’m getting sick of the people I don’t care about. I found myself having sex with my fuckbuddy recently purely because I had eaten a lot of cheese that day and I don’t want to get fat. I enjoyed the sex but frankly the cheese was a lot better. I’d give up sex and just eat cheese all day except the two must go together or I’ll be fat. But then would I even need to be skinny if I was just living a sexless life with only the cheese witnessing my flabby midriff?

I’m not having any deep thoughts here. GOOD. FUCKING GOOD! 

I’ve decided to stop being so morose all the time and just shut all the bad thoughts away and be happy because my life is totally sweet right now and if I occasionaly got up off my arse I could make something wonderful with my time.

I’m doing a little bit of work for my dad’s business online and it turns out when I don’t have to deal with customers face to face or get up early I’m actually quite motivated with this retail thing. It’s not much money- shit, it’s barely any money. But it’s good to do something and it’s good to feel like I’ve done something useful and even a hundred quid is a fucking big bonus for me right now.

I’m going to buy a pair of shoes because at the moment I only have two pairs of shoes.

Two pairs of wearable shoes. I have lots and lots and lots of shoes but they are all high heel deals which I bought when I had lots of money and a little less sense. I only have more sense now because having very little money is great for sharpening the wits. You start to find savings everywhere.

I’ve always been a massive snob about mould. But when it’s me buying the bread and me paying for the bins (well, no, it’s me trawling the streets at night looking for a skip to throw my bins into, but still.) then it’s a different story. Yesterday I scraped mould off three bits of bread and ate the bread and it tasted exactly the same as normal bread. And I probably killed an infection, I’m bound to have some kind of infection.

And then there’s cooking, if I just cut back on elaborate grocery shops for making myself special treats all the time I could afford nice wine and a pair of shoes. 

Anyway. Main thing is, I’m going to stop being such a crybaby about being poor and lonely because I’m poor because I choose not to earn a shitty wage doing a shitty job, and I’m lonely because I choose to live alone and I like living alone 85% of the time.

End of.

No more whining. I’m a grown up! YES I AM!

(This is me psyching myself up, it’s not a statement of fact)


Minor Achievements, yo!

Today I completed two very minor tasks that had been weighing on me heavier than… oh shit man, they should make a cool pop references thesaurus. I can’t think of awesome shit to say, I’m sorry.

Ok so two tasks, long overdue… the sort of thing normal people do before breakfast, the kind of people who eat breakfast, and don’t tick “eat breakfast” off their to do list and feel like it’s an accomplishment (I can never get out of bed in time to have breakfast)

One was pay those bills. Those embarrassingly overdue bills from over a month ago, maybe two months. the next bills will arrive next week, probably. It will be depressing as fuck. But I paid those two fat mothers that have been the bane of my existence for so long. It’s humiliating because I live across the road from the post office, all I have to do is get out of bed, go downstairs in a shift dress and smelling of morning, unwashed body… and take a number, and go back upstairs, have a shower, drink coffee, mess around online, eat fucking breakfast, and every so often twitch the curtains and see what number they are serving, then mosey on down to stand for like a minute before it’s my number. And that requires me to get up 20 minutes before I normally get up. Like, it’s taken me a month to manage that.

But I did it, and I swear the reward system of the human body is AWESOMe. Not only has the guilt been lifted (there’s still more guilt, but that was a big un. Still have to write to my aunt and congratulate her on getting married oh goddammit I have to get that done, she’ll hate me so much, I didn’t go to the wedding and I’m her only neice… shit fuck I’ve left it so late… it was ages ago.) And anyway yeah I paid my bills and it took five minutes.

And I had breakfast.



Last but not least!

I haven’t cleaned my bathroom floor in about a month either. It’s covered in lint and debris and general nasty stuff. Every time I go in there and sit on my wooden seat on my porcelain throne, I look at the floor in front of me. And every time, I catch a glimpse of the same dead wasp near my feet. And it freaks me out and I am afraid to look at it, until I remember it isn’t a wasp, it’s a piece of pocket lint or fluff or something, and I finally work up the courage to look straight at it (I have a terrible fear of DEAD bugs) and then I’m flooded with relief enzymes because it’s just fluff.

And every time I use the toilet and go through the dead wasp -no- pocket fluff-  routine, I think “hmmm, I should pick up the fluff and throw it in the bin so I don’t go through this again. And I always shrug and go “meh” (not really, because who does that on their own? A psychopath. No one has ever shrugged alone, probably, apart from the odd serious nut job.) And I never pick up the fluff, and it repeats and repeats and oh shit man, so many wasted stress hormones on this wasp business. So today I finally did it, I didn’t manage to clean the floor but I did pick up the fluff and put it in the bin.

Proud moment.

I’d almost call and tell my mother, but I think she might actually be impressed, and that would depress me because it would just prove how worthless and unmotivated I really am, if my mother thinks this was a good day for me too…


The road to failure is paved with good intentions, too

Ah the best laid plans of mice and men and also, women. I plan. I really do plan to do better at being an adult… but I feel like underneath this shell of having a job and a mortgage and sometimes paying bills, an unemployed and very obese person is crying to be set free.

Do you ever go home to your parents house (presuming you don’t still live there) and come across old drawings and notes and stuff you did when you were a naive little rascal full of potential and innocence and love for your dog and parents and teachers? (That’s the correct order, yes)

Does it give you a sinking feeling mixed with a kind of stale pride in the nice personality you once promised to develop… the useful, eager member of the human race you might have become… when you come across a poem you wrote for your friend when her kitten was crushed by the neighbour’s minivan, or the I.O.U a hug voucher you made for mother’s day, you fucking cheapskate? (But she liked that stingy crap better than the fucking bath salts now)…. I know I do.

You don’t even have to go that far back… for instance, today I was clearing out a week’s worth of handbag clutter (disgusting). And I came across something so foolish, well-meaning and ultimately depressing, it provoked a similar sad little smile and an internal, patronising shake of the head.

It was this:

Shit, I don’t have a scanner. It helped for the cute factor that my handwriting hasn’t changed much in 18 years. Who writes by hand, I ask you? Anyway, It was a schedule of things I was going to do the other day. It had very generous time slots allocated for resting, watching episodes of Psych, and getting shit done. I had also planned what I was going to eat, and written in huge demonic scrawls all over the page was “AND THAT IS ALL YOU WILL FUCKING EAT!!!!” (I’m supposed to be on a diet before I fly back home in 2 weeks and get my sex on with some lucky member of my phone book who was so drunk they don’t remember the horror of last time.)

I was going to pick up all the clothes from the floor and put them away neatly in the monster wardrobe I bought which was going to solve all my messyness problems. I was going to sweep up the remaining broken glass under the bed which I only really pushed away with my foot the other day. I was going to clean out my fridge with the newly purchased fridge-smell-make-nice-spray and I was going to mop the floor, load and unload dishwasher, organise my overdue bills and make a proper budget, varnish some furniture, inflate the tyres on my bike, pick up my skinny pills from the post office, talk to my bank manager and bring down the bottles and cans which are starting to attract insects to my balcony. (At least it’s keeping them away from my bed full of pizza crumbs) And I would still have so much time to do other stuff… And I was going to eat only miso soup and drink water. And snack on berries.

And what really went down that fateful day? I watched ALL my remaining Psych episodes. (Now commencing withdrawal symptoms. Muttering “you know that’s right” and “fist bump!” to myself like a demented person) I ate a frozen four cheeses pizza and a packet of hot dog sausages which weren’t really heated through but I can’t afford electricity any more, not like before. I drank a half bottle of wine that had been open for a few days. I didn’t do anything on my list. Actually I did paint a coat of varnish on a small table that was getting pretty manky looking… but that’s it. And after that I lay down all sweaty and felt like I had conquered and deserved to eat some of those biscuits I hid from myself. (hint: you can’t hide food from yourself. It’s retarded.)

Reading that well-organised timetable of productive person tasks is depressing. It’s not that hard to keep a tiny apartment tidy. Why do I collapse under the weight of having to hoover, like once every 2 weeks? And I know I’m not going to do anything tonight, because I’m going out for drinks and when I get home I will be drunk and hungry and will eat another frozen pizza. (They were on special offer in Lidl. Yeah. That kind of frozen pizza. I know, it’s shameful behaviour for someone who lives in Italy…) And I have no Psych left. Last night I watch blast from the past with alicia silverstone and george of the jungle bomb shelter. Oh man I feel so fat and horrible. I’m at work as usual and the shelves are dusty as fuck and there is no way I’m cleaning them today.

And I look at my list, and I remember how fervently I believed I would actually achieve all those tiny, easy goals… I really did think I was going to GET THINGS DONE.

And I never do. Because I write myself an A4 page full of promise and wondrous productivity and I forget that things don’t get done on their own. I will actually have to do them myself. At work me is bored and stuck in a shop with customers thinking, “tonight I’ll solve one of my problems and then tomorrow I’ll have one less. It’s so easy to just get on with it and hoover the top of my wardrobe so every time I take down my skinny bag (the bin liner full of clothes I can’t fit into that I occasionaly delve into in the hopes of seeing some effect of my half-assed diet) storm clouds of lint and dust and MATTER don’t rain down on my upturned face and into my eyes.” And because I’m so bored, it seems like I’ll be bored at home and hoovering on a ladder will not seem so taxing and unlikely.

Except “home from work me” is not bored. She has food to eat and cigarettes to smoke and wine to drink and a motherfucking laptop to stare at in barely-amused-any-more addiction. And there’s porn. Neverending porn. Oh yes. There will be no chores completed. And if I sent my laptop in for repairs, I just know I would probably get nothing done either and I would just go to bed at 8pm and sleep until the alarm buzzes and go through the motions until he gets back home, my love, my life, my laptop. I just wish he wasn’t heating up so much, but can’t bear to be without him long enough to get him fixed. Last night I opened him up for the first time and realised with the keyboard hanging on by a sinew, reminding me disgustingly of a face transplant…(really horrible they actually take people’s faces RIGHT off, and for brain surgery too. Your FACE. It just comes off. Ugh.) that I don’t have any compressed air and I don’t have whatever that gel is that keeps things cool inside, what is it called, cooling gel? Thermal gel? And wouldn’t know what to do with it…

I’m way out of my depth here. I closed him back up and had only one screw left over. Not too bad! Go, wannabe nerd! Hands shaking, turned him on… he started up. He was still overheating by the ten minute mark but I realised how foolish I had been opening him up with no clue what I was doing and how lucky a save it was. Didn’t even know if my screwdriver was magnetic or not. But computer is still ok. So that was a massive waste of time I could have spent cleaning and all I did was remove a probably vital screw from a very expensive and essential posession of mine. NICE.

Now that I’ve voided my warranty, I probably have to fork out for some expensive computer repair guy who will want to keep him for days and charge me my left nipple for the service. I think what I need to do is start sleeping with a guy who knows more about computers than I do. A lot more. And then he’ll just fix it for me for free, and quickly. Except I can’t even get laid with my existing, wide, wide net, so I definitely can’t afford to incorporate “knows how to replace that gel/knows what and where is the heatsink” into my list of important qualities alongside atheism and not being skinnier than me. And other stuff too but can’t remember- it’s too long since I actually referred to any of my standards other than “is hot”.

Because really, honestly, from the depths of sincerity- that is the only standard there is. And even that falls away with a few beers. And still no action… Although there will be action very very soon because I’m going home for a week’s holiday and I’ll be able to go out get fucked up and find some homeslice to lick the stomach acid from the corners of my mouth. Home sweet home, motherfuckers!