I Seriously Dislike Being a Grownup

I really, really hate being a grownup. I hate having to make decisions that are about what I SHOULD do rather than what I WANT to do. We spend our entire childhood wanting to be grownups, so we can do what we want. Then we realise that we can't, really.

Considering that I just spend half an hour on the phone with National Debtline, I don't think I should go to America next year. And that really, really sucks. Anyone know any rich chubby-chasers who want to marry me?

I called the National Debtline because I have two companies claiming they're collecting the same debt, and I didn't know what to do. National Debtline advised me what to do with that situation, and they took all my details about all my other debts too. I came out of that phonecall in tears, but a good kind. Sort of. There's so much I didn't realise about what I'm entitled to, regarding my debts and things.

For instance.. I don't have to put up with a million phone calls a day. I can tell them to only contact me in writing. And I don't have to only go out once a bloody fortnight because I can't afford bus tickets. Travel is considered a necessity, even for people who don't actually have anywhere to go.

I really, REALLY want to go to New York next year. I want to go to New York now. But, I can't afford it. And that totally sucks. I hate being a grownup. Have I mentioned that?

In the meantime, I have some letters to write.

My Pledge

Most of this will be of absolutely no interest to anyone who reads my blog, but it's my promise to myself, and I feel like if it is out in public then it's official and I have to stick to it.

So, I love New York City. I LOVE New York City. I've been a few times now. I went for my birthday for 10 days in 2005. And I went twice while I was out in Maine for four months in 2009. And I want to go back. All the time. Constantly! My ultimate dream is to live there one day. And I've decided that for my 30th birthday next year I'm going back. I've never been there WITH anyone before, but hopefully that'll happen in a few years when Cayden can afford it (we're going to cross off "Christmas in New York" from my bucket list). But I'm going back next year. Decision made.

Can I afford it? No.

Is that going to stop me? No.

Since last year my financial common sense has improved incredibly. I'm paying off my debts, slowly, and I'm paying my bills when I'm supposed to. I still owe quite a lot of money, and one debt that specifically gets on my mind is the money that I owe Neil. I'm currently going through a severe spring-cleaning phase and seling lots that I own on eBay. And I'm also opening an Etsy store in a few months that should make a bit of money.

I don't think any of this is coming out in any sense of order. Bear with me.

In 2010 I did that New Thing: Challenges thing, for the year. The reward system was that for every challenge I passed I got to save a certain amount of money, and for each challenge that I failed, I had to donate the same amount of money. Because I'm me, I didn't save or donate anything, but I did keep records of all the amounts. This year, I'm doing Project 200, and for each piece that I complete I get to save £1.50. There have been a few things that I was saving for, but New York has just overtaken all of them in importance.

I have a tin, that I save all the money in. And to make sure that I actually save, a good friend looks after the tin for me. So far this year I saved a bit of money, but had to break into it to pay my broadband bill last month. So the saving has restarted. But... every penny earned from eBay will go into the tin. Every penny earned from Etsy will go into the tin.

I'm also going to crack down on what I spend my money on each payday. I tend to buy a lot of crap. I'm going to write "New York" on my wallet, to remind myself why I'm saving. And I'm going to consciously think about whether or not I'm buying something because I WANT it or because I NEED it. (Yes, I know this is just everyday common sense, but I don't have any of that). All my spare money will go towards this trip.

Throughout this year, I'm clearing quite a few of my debts, too. Which means that I'll have more money every fortnight. Except that I won't. I'm going to stick to the bare basics I'm on now, and put the extra money towards the trip.

But (and here's where the pledge is important)... I still owe Neil quite a bit of money. I owe Jen a little, and my sister, and Cayden too. None of them will ever ask me for the money, even though every single one could use it. Especially Neil. And the money I owe him is actually quite a big amount. So... even if I have my flight paid off, and the hotel all booked, and all my dollars in my wallet...

I will not go to New York next year unless I have paid back Cayden, Jen and Jennie. And at least half of what I owe Neil.

All I have to do now is go and rewrite the list of stuff I have to do next payday. I'm now not buying quite a few bits, and I need to factor in a bus ticket to the blood donation centre. I wish they paid for blood in this country. And I wish I could have a garage sale. So much easier than eBay, and less fees.

Anyway... All this I pledge, in the name of New York City!

Ode to Audrey

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote a post about how angry I was feeling with certain aspects of my life. In that post I referred to two different people. One of them, the male, was very understanding. He apologised for hurting me, and told me he wished he could express himself the way I do in my blog.

The other one didn't take it so well. A short time after I posted, I had a text message from her. An angry, offended message. I told her that I hadn't meant to upset her, that I was just being honest. I haven't heard anything from her since. Nothing. At all. It looks like that friendship is over.

And I am extraordinarly sad about that. I've known her for four and a half years, and in that time she completely changed my life. We are very, very different people, but we have a lot in common too. We both love America. We both struggle with depression. We both find rockers extremely attractive. We both love peanut butter. We both like crafting.

In fact, she was the person who taught me to knit. For months and months I would cross stitch while she would knit, and she would offer to teach me, and I would tell her to sod off. And eventually I gave in. And I am so grateful that I did. I love knitting, and knitting lead to crochet, which I also love.

She taught me a lot. Before her, I'd wear jeans and a t-shirt. I always had my hair up in a ponytail. Now I wear dresses, and skirts, and jewellery, and I get haircuts, and hairstyles (ish), and very occasionally I wear a bit of makeup. I'm still not a girly-girl, but I'm ever so slightly more refined that I was before her.

I have a tattoo that represents her. I always said I wouldn't get tattoos for people, but I decided that even if we never spoke again, she'd had such a huge impact on my life that I wanted to commemorate that. So on my back I have a red heart intertwined with a purple star. The red heart represents her, and the purple star is for me. Red was always her colour, and she doodles a curly heart beneath her signature. And my favourite colour is purple, and my signature shape is a star.

I influenced her a little too. At least, I like to think so. She now has that swirly heart tattooed on her hip. And hopefully I rubbed off a little bit of her "goody two shoes". I made her a little bit badder, and she made me a little bit gooder. And let's ignore that horrendously bad grammar.

I'm glad that she is happy with her boyfriend, and her job, and her life. And I want nothing more than for her happiness to last. But I am very sad that I can't be a part of what makes her happy.

I think about her a lot. When I think a rnadom thought, or have something to celebrate, or something to commiserate, I still want to text her. And everything reminds me of her. One of the handmade soaps that I received this morning smells like J'adore, her signature perfume. I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, which made me think of her. I found an old theatre ticket. I saw an advert for Wicked.

We did a lot, she and I. There was That Summer - lots of debauchery I shall not get into. And several incidents involving alcohol. All of which make me smile now that I look back at them. She was my "plus one" at my aunt's birthday party, and at my sister's wedding. She met, and enchanted, my entire family. She helped me rehome my cat, and collect several cats, and collect and rehome a rabbit. We shopped in Camden, and cried during a theatre trip to Wicked. We saw comedians, and dodgy musical shows, and brilliant musicals. I will never hear a song from Wicked and not think about her. Or Joseph the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat. Or Phantom of the Opera. I will never watch Strictly Come Dancing without thinking about her. Or a vampire movie. Or a Spiderman movie. Or read a vampire novel. Or eat a quiche. Or a Morrison's salad, or drink milkshake, or eat a doughnut without thinking about her. I will never go to a circus without thinking about her. I'll stop here. I could write an encyclopedia of things that will remind me of her.

I love her, and I miss her, and I hope our estrangement will end at some point in the future.

I do have to say though, that I don't regret that post. I regret that I hurt her, but I don't regret using my blog to vent my frustrations.
I

I got goodies :-)

One of the swaps I run on Ravelry is a Round Robin Envelope group. You get a large envelope and it goes around a group of ten(ish) people, who each put in a present for you. You, in turn, receive everyone elses envelopes and put in a present for them. At the end of the swap, your presents come back to you. I'm only participating in one circle in this group, and this morning my package arrived!!!



I got...

- two delicious handmade soaps. One smells exactly like Jen, which kinda made me sad, but I'll explain about that in a different post.
- two belt buckles - need to google belt patterns now!
- a fortune cookie - my fortune was something boring, cookie was delicious. I love those things.
- some absolutely gorgeous little beads
- a reel of beautiful classic ribbon
- a handmade card - which is far too nice for anybody I know
- a beautiful little notebook - has a quote on it: "Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear, and the blind can see."
- two beautiful beaded bracelets
- a collection of cute little stitchmarkers
- some mini notecards with cute little cats on
- an adorable handmade brooch, with buttons on it
- a pen and a mechanical pencil, and a ruler - can never have too many of those

I think that's it. It's possible that Lexie has already run off with something.

Thank you to everyone who sent me things :D

Double Chocolate Cream Pie

Hey, look at me. I can bake :-)

This was delicious. Gone from the plate very very quickly.

Project 200 - 50/150

Here I am... A quarter of the way through. Admittedly I haven't completed a lot in the past week or so, but who cares.



50 down
150 to go

Angry

WARNING - THIS POST CONTAINS RANTS. THEY ARE SLIGHTLY NONSENSICAL. THERE IS BAD GRAMMAR AND SENTENCE STRUCTURE. THERE IS ALSO RANTING ABOUT SPECIFIC PEOPLE - PLEASE DO NOT GET MAD AT ME. THIS IS MY ONLY OUTLET.

I’m angry. I don’t know why I’m angry at the moment, when I’m usually sad, but I am! I’m angry damnit. I’m angry with the world.

I’m angry that stupid little injuries keep happening to me. I’m not as much of a klutz as the world makes me out to be. All I did was generously donate a bed frame to someone who needed it, and now I’m missing a freaking toenail for fuck’s sake! Despite spending the last decade of my life not taking care of myself properly, I do it right this time. I call medical professionals for advice, I clean and cover my wound. And then when I go to change the dressing, the stupid sodding gauze sticks to the fresh nail growing in and rips it fucking out! So now it’s freshly painful, and I have to keep in uncovered to let the nail grow in, which means cleaning it every two minutes to stop an infection coming in.

And I’m angry with my friends. One makes absolutely no effort to see me anymore. Now that she has her job, and her live-in boyfriend, she’s just not interested in me or our friendship. I can’t think of the last time she came round to see me without me inviting her, or without her wanting to use my parking space to get into town. She doesn’t text me first. She doesn’t message me or call me. I miss her. She’s my best friend. She’s the handprint on my heart. I know I’m not the easiest person to be friends with. I guess it’s understandable that she’d much rather spend her free time with her boyfriend.

I’m angry with my other friend too. A couple of weeks ago he was here literally non-stop for over a week. He was my lodger. I’m not complaining about that. I loved that. I love his company, and I love that he makes me less self-conscious about my foibles. Then he goes home to his parents for a weekend, and when he comes back everything has changed. He’s been sick, and depressed, and things are getting to him, but in nearly three weeks I’ve seen him once, and spoken to him only a few times. I feel like he’s avoiding me. I KNOW he isn’t, but it feels like it. And I’m angry at myself for being so paranoid and insecure, but I’m angry at him because he knows I’m insecure and paranoid and worry easily and... And there’s all kinds of mess with his participation in a Ravelry swap that I’m running, and I don’t want to push him because I know he’s depressed and that he can’t help it, but it’s frustrating me, and I’m getting flack from other Ravelers because I’m the moderator and I’m meant to do something. I’m just angry.

I’m angry with men in general actually. I belong to four social-networking/dating sites. I have on my profile, clearly stated, that I am only looking for friendship. So these men message me. I get the usual messages of men asking me for a fuck. I’m used to them. I ignore them. Then I get the fully grown men sending “hey bbe, wot u up 2”. What the hell is that? Aside from all the glaringly obvious issues, where the hell is the question mark? Then there are the ones that feel the need to message me and tell me I’m fat, or that I’m ugly. Why? What satisfaction can they possibly get from insulting a stranger? But you know what makes me the angriest? The ones who start a normal conversation. The ones who I respond to, and we get chatting, and we swap mobile numbers, and we keep texting, and we’re getting along nicely, and then they start flirting. Ok, I like to flirt. Then the flirting turns into much more than flirting, and I’m not comfortable, so I remind them that I’m only looking for friends. “That’s fine,” they say. “We can be friends.” Then I never bloody hear from them again. That makes me bloody angry.

I’m angry with life. What did I do in my past life to deserve having such shit piled on me this time round? Why do I deserve to be a depressive? Why do things keep going wrong? Why do things go wrong for the people I love? What in the hell did Neil do to deserve having his baby brother blown up? How the hell is that justified?

I’m angry with myself as well. I had this amazing plan for making products, and designing patterns, to sell in an Etsy store. I made a conscious decision to start designing things. Since then I’ve worked on a few patterns, but haven’t done a stitch of craftwork. Haven’t started any products for my Etsy store. Haven’t worked on any Project 200 pieces. None. And I don’t know why. I just don’t care. And that scares me, because crafting is all I have, and if I stop wanting to do that, what the hell am I going to do with my life?

I’m angry about weightloss too. I like the Weightwatchers plan. I was a bit miffed when they switched to this new complicated ProPoints scheme, but I got used to it. I learned to like it, I learned to use it. When I can afford to go regularly, Weightwatchers works for me. But it’s £6 a meeting, plus a £4 bus ticket to get there. That’s £10 a week. And they don’t let you skip meetings. You have to go EVERY SINGLE WEEK. So that’s £20 a month. After bills I only have £60-75 a fortnight to spend on gas, electric, groceries and catfood. That’s all the money I have. I can’t afford to do that. So when I found a set of bathroom scales that has a high enough weight limit for me, I was pleased. Yes, they’re a bit expensive. But I got them from a catalogue and I can pay them off at £2.40 a week. No more expensive Weightwatchers meetings. I stick to the plan and weigh at home once a week. Nice. Simple. The scales arrive and I weigh myself. Horrible number, but expected. I stick to the plan. I point my food. I behave myself damnit! And come the first weigh-in, I’ve put on 5lbs. 5lbs in 4 days. How the hell? None of my whole three friends are available for support or comfort, and I get depressed, and deal with it by binge eating. So now next weigh-in I’ll weigh even more. I hate it. I hate the whole bloody process.

I’m angry. Very angry. And it’s weird and different. I don’t do anger. I do misery, and depression, and gut-wrenching sorrow. But I’m none of those things. I want to cry, but it’s out of frustration, not sadness. I’m angry and I want to punch a bloody wall. I want to punch a person. I’m not violent, but I want to get violent with someone. I’m so angry with everything, and I don’t know what to do about it.