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)

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Pickin’ at a spot on my face, watchin’ the tide roll away

So today my work computer, just when I was really getting into the day’s stumbling, decides to die.

Ok, so it’s my oldest laptop.

I have three.

The old one, back from the wonderful time when computers had that squarer aspect ratio, and everything wasn’t so gosh darned widescreen. I fucking hate widescreen. Don’t tell me it’s better or makes more sense… ah to be honest I’ve gotten used to the new format. But anyway. Fuck widescreen.

So that’s my old computer, and I brought it in to work so I could use my second computer on my holidays. Second computer is a shitty vaio that I hated so I bought a new beast of a machine but since using vaio on holidays, realised it’s actually a pretty damn good piece of electronics, and I didn’t need the new one. But anyway. Also I feel kind of guilty writing bad stuff about the vaio while I type this ON the vaio. I feel like I’m being unloyal… Too much time spent with computers, I have more empathy for them than animals. Not good.

Anyway, today the oldest computer decides to shut itself off and despite revving her up a few times, I know she’s dead.

We had a good run, before I decided I deserved and should spend my now sorely missed moneys on new computers SOLELY TO PLAY FALLOUT.

So I was a bit sore about that. Although, good came of it: Being undistracted for the afternoon meant I sold a shitload of clothes.

Awkward moment when I realised why I didn’t sell anything yesterday: Fucking stumbleupon, man.

So then next stop was the bank. Finished work and headed off… but my spots, man I can’t keep makeup on in this heat. Slathering beige gunk on my spots lasts five minutes and then the tip of the spot is red and in sight again, and the makeup just further clogs the pores and pools around the inflamed area and draws attention to the damn thing.

I went to the bank because I don’t actually know how much money I have in the world.

Holidays were rough on my finances, I knew that… but damn I had no fucking IDEA how rough exactly.

On the way back from London, I wasn’t sure if I even had enough money left in my account to pay for the bus home from the airport, and I still bought expensive eyeshadows in the airport.

It’s times like this I realise, there is actually no way I will ever sort myself out. I am ridiculous. I am… an incorrigible woman.

Ohhhh I wish I just had some restraint. I do try, sometimes. but what the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t need fucking eyeshadows. I didn’t need that roll on caffeine thing for under the eyes. I KNOW caffeine is too big a particle or whatever to even absorb into your skin, and I still bought it. I am a  MORON.

So I went to the bank, fairly sure I had anything between 0 and 1000 euro left.

I sat in the waiting area with the sinking feeling, the stupid stupid stupid why do you keep shopping feeling in the pit of my stomach. The fat bastard being served by the only bank employee was taking for fucking ever.

I was sweating profusely.

My whole month of spending flashed before my eyes, one poor exercise in judgement after another. Face palm.

I began picking at my spots.

One spot, on being casually uncapped, began to spurt a relentless stream of blood. Ack… damn. Tried to quell the flow with my sleeve. Ahhh so much blood…. such a little spot. This is the forehead one by the way. The bindi.

It won’t stop bleeding.

I’m trying to press my finger down on top to stop the blood but at any moment, the cashier will be free and I’ll have to go face to face with my tiny, ferociously streaming headwound like I’ve been hit by a sniper.

I lick my finger and furiously try to stop the blood.

Oh man oh man this is so shitty, it won’t stop.

It’s slowed but still bleeding by the time it’s my turn.

I get my account balance and feel like I actually have taken a gunshot.

I thank the disgusted bank employee weakly and stumble out into the sun, sweaty, pasty, anaemic… like a high school yearbook photo of myself.

And I get on the tram, and run the figure that is left in my account over in my mind.

300 euro…

300 euro…

3…. hundred… euro.

Only.

Total of the bills I need to pay this month:

200.

Total of the mortgage I have to pay before the end of the month:

400.

Moment when I realised that the value of the new clothes, shoes and makeup I was wearing, right then, is more than I will be able to spend on food this month:

PRICELESS.

FUCK MASTERCARD, this is why I have no fucking money.

I was going to cry at the end for emphasis, but I’m too pissed off with myself to cry.

I only cry when I feel hard done by, or someone shouts at me, or I’m drunk, or something.

Right now, I’m just very very angry with myself.

STUPID STUPID STUPID.

I really want to be good, why can’t I be good?

Why is my inner moron so fucking good at convincing me to do shit?

I didn’t drink the wine, and I haven’t eaten much today (because I can’t afford to eat…sorry I’m just being dramatic. I can afford to eat.)

So…. why the fuck doesn’t THAT self restraint manifest itself in the world of shopping?

Ugh ok new leaf.

New leaf, right now.

Resolutions:

1. Stop buying shit.

2. no more drinking unless it’s absolutely cheap and necessary to socialise.

3. stop giving a crap about how you and other people look, because honestly no one gives a shit, and plus you’re covered in spots so this week, let’s just write off as an ugly week. BUT do not buy clothes because they will not make you any better looking. You have lots of nice clothes. Clothes will not complete you. Neither will new makeup. Shoes, yeah they kind of do complete you but you have enough for the moment. You are allowed buy one new pair of shoes next month and that is it until December when you are allowed buy ONE more pair. And then in the sales yeah ok fair enough go crazy.

4. Eating is restricted to times when you are actually hungry. Get back on those pills right now. There is no point in being fat and broke, that’s just going to make you depressed and drive you back to the shops to buy clothes that hide your disgusting belly.

5. Do up a budget. Work more hours.

6. Get legs waxed. There is no point being hairy and broke, that will just make you depressed and you’ll end up spending a fortune which you don’t have on tights to cover your hairy faun legs. That’s just bad economics. Tights are expensive.

7. Stop buying shit. Shred the Ikea catalogue immediately.

8. Actually seriously stop buying shit.

9. Don’t carry your cards around with you. You never remember the supermarket payments. 20 euro here, 30 there… drinks.. you took the card to a bar in London, you complete and other moron.

10. Ten is a nice round number.

 

UPDATE:

I don’t know exactly how I managed to go so far the opposite way of what I intended, but I didn’t even realise…

and then suddenly it’s like,

my prepaid card was declined on the Ann Summers website,

and I’m like what the fuck?

I mean I knew what I was doing obviously, but it didn’t register as being a thing that I had JUST resolved not to do any more, and here I am with a cart full of a vibrator, a load of stockings I will never get a chance to wear and a bunch of “myster bras” because you have to spend 35 pounds or more to get free shipping, so it would have been a waste to get just the vibrator, which is all I actually wanted.

But I tried looking for them here in Italy and woah they cost too much.

Rip off.

But what the fuck? What is wrong with me? How did I not think online shopping was something I shouldn’t do? Sorry for the double negative… meh.

Thankfully I don’t HAVE any fucking money so the sale didn’t go through.

This time.