Misplacing my dad - losing a parent at a young age

Mmkay, so. As I write this, it's Father's Day, but I'm not sure when or if I'll post it. Been thinking about doing this post for a while, but I get embarrassed and stop, or I think people might think I'm writing it for attention or pity - not the case. Just feels like it's something I have to tackle for me. If I do post this and you continue to read, please just pretend like it never happened and we can get on with our lives and without (my) embarrassment.

Before this whole post turns into one of those ambiguous social media statuses that prompts "U OK, hun? DM me!" responses, I'll explain. I want to write a post about what it's like to lose a parent at a young age. Sorry.

I know I'm not alone in this experience by a long shot, but I don't feel like it's something people who go through it talk about very much. I know I don't out loud. My dad died in 1997 in a car accident - I was 9 years old, and my mum, the poor sod, had to take my sister and I out of school (I was making an angle measuring thing out of paper that also doubled up as a crocodile if you squinted hard and made it talk, which is what I was doing before I was pulled away from maths) and deliver the news to us while very pregnant with our littlest sister. Obviously, that kind of news does change your life pretty significantly. I worked out today that it's been 21 years and 2 days (at the time of writing) since that day, so I'm going to share what that's been like and what I've learned from losing a parent as a kid:

1. A "lost" parent is the ultimate conversation stopper.

When getting to know someone - a new friend, work colleague, etc. etc, very occasionally the topic turns to family and I'm asked "So what does your mum/dad do?" or something along those lines. I'm 30 now and this still makes me anxious; when I've told people in the past that I've lost a parent, the panic in their eyes as they try to think of what to say to undo the awkwardness that's sprung up between us like I've just placed a footlong rubber dildo on the table makes my guts lurch. I want to apologise profusely for the conversational dildo and run away, and so I tend to start talking really, really fast about anything I possibly can to put as big a distance between us and the topic as possible. I think this works...question mark?

Also, why do we feel the need to say we've lost someone, like we've accidentally dropped them behind a radiator? Weird choice of words, but it's less abrasive than "Well, my mum is a caretaker and my dad is dead. What do your parents do?"

2. Grief is a sneaky fucker.

Grief never goes away. I'm nearly the age that my dad was when I dropped him behind life's proverbial radiator, but the fact can still hit me like a piano falling from a third storey window. As time passes,the gaps between these bouts of ugly-crying expand quite a bit, but there's always something waiting in the wings to pounce on you and shove you back into that fun place.

As a teen, it only took the right combination of hormones, self pity and cheap cider to do the job (I've traumatised a handful of friends and one very unlucky but patient boyfriend with sporadic displays of emotional breakdown and for that I can only apologise and hope that it gave you a good anecdote or two), but as I get older, the grief gets sneakier. Its most recent attack came when I was shown a lovely picture of my dad smiling for the camera, and when my sister turned it over, it had "photo taken by Becky" written on the back - he was smiling at baby me. Cue three days of surprise sobbing. Such fun.
 
3. Sometimes you feel like you're mourning a fictional character.

Like I said, my dad passed away when I was 9. At that age, you don't really know anyone all that well. You're too focused on learning the names of all the dinosaurs and flying off hills on your bike without a helmet on to actually get to know the many facets of a person's character. I occasionally feel weird about missing my dad because what if I'm missing someone who doesn't actually reflect who I think he is? Here are a few things I remember about him:

• When asking if we could do something/go somewhere, he'd respond infuriatingly with a "probably"instead of a simple yes or no.
• He must've had a good sense of humour, because he laughed with me at the fart joke part of the Lion King's 'Hakuna Matata' with me, because, duh, fart jokes are hilarious.
• He was halfway decent at doodling - a skill I coveted as a frizzy haired midget.
• He put about as much thought into his tattoos as I currently do (i.e none - one of them was just his name. Jeff. Who gets "Jeff" tattooed on them, even if they're called Jeff? Come on, Jeff, mun!)
• He was late. A lot.The irony that he has now achieved being late in multiple senses of the word isn't lost on me.
  

So, yeah - doesn't exactly convey a rich tapestry of a human personality, does it? One thing I did learn on a recent trip to my paternal grandparents' (that I left WAY too long to do) was that as a child, he once tried to hide a slab of butter under his hat and was busted when it started melting down his face despite his vigorous protestations that he didn't know where the butter had gone. Despite how little I know about him in the grand scheme of things, at least that story confirms that we're definitely from the same gene pool.

I'll leave it there - tried my best not to wang on. Thanks for letting me get that post out of my system and for reading (and, in advance, for never mentioning that you have to me in real life...). Normal service resumes next post, where I'll probably talk about my weird foot and make jokes about snack foods as per usual.

Hope all the excellent dads, step dads, grandads and father figures (male, female, neither and both) have had a day as excellent as they are! Keep on dadding, daddos! =)

Jeff Taunton - the man who sat by and smiled while his daughters were cruelly forced to pose in puffy, flowery balls of velour and static (I did kind of love that dress, and it probably wouldn't take a lot of coercion to get me into a similar one now. Don't judge.

Thirty, Burpy and Rhyming

It's been a busy(ish) few weeks, and I've written naff all on here for a while, so I think it's high time I gave you, Faceless Internet, an update. Plus, A has gone away for his first weekend's training with the Army Reserves, leaving me to fend for myself. 

So far, I've eaten nothing that requires the use of an oven, treated myself to another "ahh, go on then!" tattoo, and watched in awe as my mother turned up at the house at 9am on a Saturday, armed with a tonne of cleaning equipment that she's been gagging to use since she learned A was going to be out of town. She's the Tasmanian Devil of cleaning. It truly is something to behold. I'm sitting in the neat and gleaming aftermath of Storm Tina and couldn't be more grateful.

So. A blog post, then. 

I've been test driving this "being a 30 year old" thing for just over two months now, which means I'm an expert at it. Obvs. This is the first year of my life where I'm constantly conscious of my age in any and all situations, and I wanted to share with you what that's been like so far. You know, because nobody else has every turned 30 before. We're breaking new ground here, people! Here we go...

Death is always watching

You know those stickers you see in people's houses that say "dance like no one's watching" etc. etc. (usually in the homes of people who also have "live, laugh, love" on their walls)? Well, someone is watching. And he's got a big, somewhat impractical scythe and wears a comfy, black dressing gown with a hood, even during the summer. Death. Death is always watching. Happy Sunday! 

What I mean by this is (I might be on my own here,because I've always been a smidge morbid) that I've found that the older I'm getting, the more terrified I am by my inevitable demise. An example - for a friend's birthday recently, a bunch of us went to Go Ape. This is where you voluntarily attach yourself to bit of rope on hooks, climb 'nope!' feet into the air and rely on said rope on hooks to violently fling yourself from one tree to the next. It was great, and I'd do it again in a heartbeat. But, for the first couple of trees, if there weren't any witnesses, I'd have likely have been stood on one of the platforms, shaking like Mr Bean on a diving board, unable to make the jump. 

I definitely wasn't alone in that. Before we set off, our group's collective facial expression was one of pale, grinning "why the fuck are we paying to do this instead of the usual drinking until we fall down?" trepidation. Meanwhile, a 10 year old, who'd dragged his poor mother along for a day out that she clearly hadn't grasped the reality of until the last minute, gracelessly swang, jumped and bounced his way from tree to tree like he was an immortal with rubber bones. Bastard.

I don't look so good. *shrug*

Okay, so I've never been totally over the moon about my appearance (bloody patriarchy *shakes fist*), but my attitude towards it is shifting. I think my body is starting to rebel against any feeble attempts at control that I make:
  

• My metabolism - it's starting to take naps on the job. Back in uni, I survived on a balanced diet of beer and tinned orange stuff with cheese on (my signature dish) and I stayed more or less the same shape and size for the whole three years. Today? Just thought briefly about eating some quiche and I can already feel the stirrings of a third chin. 

• My face - up until last year, I believed that make up was fun goo that you apply to your face as part of a sort of costume, just for nights out, like face paint. Now, unless I smear concealer under my eyes on the daily, the dark, baggy patches of skin make me look like I've seen things, man! Also, wrinkles are fun, aren't they? Instead of lovely laughter lines, I have "confused" and "surprised" lines between my eyes and on my forehead. I have physical evidence etched on my face now of how baffled I am by life. Great.

If these kinds of things were happening to me five years ago, I'd have been hiding under the sofa, only coming out when someone has Maoams and/or a cheese platter for me. Now, I'm weirdly enjoying the near total lack of control I have over this flesh robot that I inhabit. It amuses me. I mean, I still get sad when supermarket staff go to I.D me and then tell me "oh, never mind, you're good" when they clock my evidently haggard and weather-worn face, but at least it still does what it needs to do, which is wordlessly wish a curse on him and his entire family and any future generations to come, all while I'm saying "ha, no problem" and gleefully scanning wine, which I now need even more of, through self service.

Bedtime is the shit

You know what I've done for the two nights while I've had the house to myself? I'll let you guess. Did I:

A. Throw a raging 2 day house party
B. Go on an adventure and sample some of the great experiences the world I inhabit has to offer
C. Watch a minimal amount of Netflix with the pets and then gleefully retire to bed before 10pm, in the starfish position, until the dog kicked me back into the corner of it, where I belong?

The answer was A! Did you get it? 

Of course it wasn't A. I actively look forward to bed time from the second I wake up, and I'm cool with that. Bed is comfy. Bed doesn't ask you to do anything in exchange for money (at least in my line of work, it doesn't). Bed is the only thing in this life that gives without taking, and I love it. 

*looks at watch*

Only 12 more hours before I get to go back in! For now, quiche is calling me and my chins. I will leave you with an image of me being 30 and loving it, despite neither flirty or thriving, as slogans on mugs will have you believe:

"Witness my rebirth! Is it bed time yet?"

 

A Quick Catch Up

 ....aaaand we have internet!  A month into living in my first ever owned home (not renting, not squatting in, not sitting in the bushes outside of...owned!), and I am finally connected to the big, invisible web of Youtube videos of animals playing the keyboard and ranting weirdos on Facebook.  Now I'm home =)

 

Obligatory "look, I've got some keys!" photo.  I am wearing a top, and I do have boobs. 

Both top and boobs are both just possibly hanging out with my knees... Or I was so excited that morning that I put my head on the wrong way round and the fleshy area you see is really my back.  Who knows.

...Did I mention I've got a house??

A brief catch up on my to-ings and doings(because I'm feeling too lazy this lovely, bright Sunday to think of an actual post with a proper structure and theme (you know, like all the other masterpieces I've flung onto this thing like a monkey throwing poop):

• I may never move house again in my life ever ever, even if an asteroid flattens this one.  The experience leading up to it had so many highs and crashing lows that I think I have house buying PTSD.  Every time I hear the word "solicitor", I now get the chills and start mumbling in tongues. 
• My mum should legit be one of those Ikea elves that create rooms for people to look at in the "furniture zoo" section of the shop.  I mean, look at this shit - I definitely wouldn't have put this lot together using my own brain:

 

Just .... *gestures*  I spent a good few days genuinely welling up at how much I love my surroundings and how much my family must love me to give up their time to help make it look so nice.  

Or maybe what I perceive as love is actually their "fear of allowing Becky to be within 50 feet of a drill and/or flat pack furniture."  The Sunday we moved in, Andy had to deal with violent swings between 

"I'm so happy!  I love it here!" to "Waaah, I've done nothing to deserve to live somewhere so pretty!  My family are too good for meeee! DON'T YOU DARE MOVE THAT COASTER, IT'S PERFECT WHERE IT IS!!"

I think I win at first world problems this month.

• I've started running again.  Sort of.  Through the NHS' Couch to 5k app, I've built up to running in 90 second intervals, which my aggro foot appears to be tolerating for now.  Injury still infuriatingly "there", but at least on good stretches where it pretends that it's a normal, functioning foot, there is no pain at all, and aforementioned stretches are getting longer each time.  *holds breath and crosses everything that this is the start of actual, long term recovery*
• There's been a change of gyms. In the name of time and petrol saving, I've been going to a local functional fitness (essentially Crossfit without the affiliation) gym called F.I.T Pontarddulais and enjoying it a lot. I do drag around a degree of guilt for not going to Outcast Strength & Fitness in Swansea anywhere near as often as I did (still going every now and then as a treat to myself.  No way can I go cold turkey) because they got me to a place where I can fling more weight around than I ever could before, but the way things are at the minute, I'm enjoying the extra snippets of time I get to spend with my fur child (doggo) and my man child (boyo) during the week.  I've also seen signs round this way for yoga classes, soooo...might be worth a go?  If I'm going to cheat on my first love in group exercise, it may as well be with multiple facilities.  Once a ho and all that.

Busy old month coming up, so I should have lots more to report soon.  I have:

1. Friend Wedding 1 of 4 (!!) in 2017 next week, as well as..
2. A seminar on writing for children because maybe that's where my calling secretly lies, as I am a child trapped in a drinking, cursing adult's body after all.  Or it could just be a bit of a fun thing to do on a Saturday afternoon.  Either way, I win.
3. An all-day leaving do (*cough* drinking session) in Tenby with the work peeps for which I have already purchased 3 dresses...If anyone wants to follow me round Tenby and periodically hand me a costume change as I get increasingly nonsensical, please get in touch.  I will pay you in cuddles and questionable life advice.

 Right...I'm off to play with the doggy cam my sister got me as a housewarming gift.  A has been in the same position for so long that I thought the screen was frozen, so I'd better go and make sure he's alright...Or I might use the "voice" function on it to scare the shit out of him.  Heehee.

 

*gasp* d'you think he saw me? =/

We're Not Worthy: A Mothers' Day Post

 *sheepishly raises a hand*


...Hi.  Been a while, hasn't it?  May have lost my sense of humour for a time there.  Been a bit, um...tense, to tell truth.  This whole buying-a-house thing is a bit of a head fuck isn't it?  I'm fully aware that it's not a real problem; I'm purchasing a brand new roof over my head, which many many many people will never get to do, but in my current petty tunnel vision, it's the HARDEST THING EVER!! So much adminny minutiae to remember.  So many people to chase up.  So many goats to sacrifice to the house-buying gods (praise be).  Doesn't help either that one of the key players in Operation Becky's New Digs is the actual real life manifestation of the "computer says no" lady from Little Britain.

*cough*

Next Friday, Andy and I will be temporarily moving back to our respective mothers' homes while we wait for the house to be given innards (it has a roof and everything now!), so you can at least guarantee that I won't be short of material in the coming weeks.  Blogs aplenty.

Today, I thought I'd veer away from my obsessive thought vortex about being a home owner and instead focus on something a little nicer.  Tomorrow is mummer's day! During which we acknowledge the fact that our matriarchs once shat us into life via their front bottoms.  Hurrah! 

God, that's a vile mental image, I'm so sorry.

Meh, I'm leaving it in.

This morning, I've been mulling over why it is I'm grateful to Tina T (ooh, ahh, just a little bit..) for bringing me forth into a world of sunshine (for other residents of Wales - that orb thing that occasionally peeps through the murk in the sky), joy and endless, endless paperwork and phone calls.  *Starts to viciously rip out chunks of own hair*

..Sorry, slipped back into the vortex.  Genuinely, though.  Whatever token tat I manage to present to my mum on mother's day will not be enough to thank/apologise to her for what she's had to put up with.  The reasons for this area many

LIST TIME!!

Why Flowers & Smellies Will Never Be Enough on Mothers' Day

1.  Remember when you were a teenager...how embarrassing your mum was to you?  God, how could she be so inconsiderate as to exist?!  It struck me recently that it probably works both ways.  I've never been the coolest of chicks, the hippest of the hip (case in point: use of the words "hip" and "chick"...am I a T-shirt from Tammy Girl??).  Imagine the shame of having to be all "Well..yep, that's my daughter.."

 

 "Get up, people can SEE you!!"

2.  The obvious - she stretched her body beyond all reasonable proportions to house you for 9 months. You made her sick, tired, nauseous and uncomfortable.  And, in all likelihood, you continue to do so to this day.  

3.  A £10 Amazon gift voucher in a soppy card will never cover the thousands of pounds your mother had to spend on your every new whim that took you as you grew up.  I dread to conceive how much my fleeting hobbies amounted to in pounds sterling:

- the briefest of careers in karate and aaaaall the kit that came with it.
- mountains of felt pens replaced because "Muuuuuuum, these ones have gone all dry!"
- the pets you nagged for and then totally neglected as a child because "they're a bit annoying and they keep sitting on my homework."
- the hundred BILLION small, plastic animals that you hoarded because you NEED ALL OF THEM!!
- the  countless "borrowed" £20 notes that you took "just in case" you needed extra money for a taxi home from the local night club at aged 17, with wriggle room for a cheeky kebab in the queue.  Yes, drinking totally counts as a hobby.

4.  If your mum was anything like mine, she was essentially an unpaid counselor for all your insane non-problems from toddlerhood right up until whatever age you are now:

- Age 2(little sis born) to 10: "I truly feel that I deserve more of the things because I am older than the newcomer.  The amount of attention, food and stuff she gets is more or less equal to what I get.  Clearly, I am bigger and more important, so we need to correct the balance here."

 - Age 11 to...present, let's be honest:  "I'M FAT AND UGLY AND UNWORTHY OF LOVE!  I CAN'T STOP EATING AND THE ONLY THING THAT WILL MAKE IT BETTER IS IF YOU GIVE ME A MASSIVE PLATE OF CHIPS WITH TRIFLE FOR AFTERS, WAAH!"  Trifle and chips eaten, whole cycle starts again.

 - Age 17 to...okay, present again:  "I'm hung over.  Come, sit with me and I shall regale you with tales of desolate woe and unbridled happiness depending on where my hormones are currently at and how recently I've eaten.  Can I have some soup and a blanket, please?"

5.  No matter what you agree or disagree on, if your mum is anything like mine, she has the solution to your issues when you need it the most.  Example: letting you and your dog live rent free in her already person and pet filled house for a month, maybe more, while you wait for somewhere new to live to materialise.  *proudly gestures at the total lack of sarcasm and mocking in this point, awaits "daughter of the year" medal*

Happy early mothers' day to you if you've done the brave and terrifying thing of materialising a person/people from your DNA and innards (biology isn't my strong suit) and for then putting up with their shit for a lifetime. We're not worthy.

#

xxx

Spring Clean/How To Be Injured

Welcome, welcome.  You may have noticed that I've done a bit of spring cleaning here today.  Winter cleaning?  Not very spring-y outside.  Currently watching snow fall from an eerily quiet house and starting to believe I've gone completely deaf.

*loudly claps*

No, I'm good. 

Now that we've cleared that up...I tweaked my blog title from Rebecca Writes & Runs to Rebecca Writes and Runs (a bit); Not because I'm going off recreational shuffling (far from it.  After 3 months of walking...like a goddamn muggle, I'm gagging to get back out there again).  It's to stop myself from having a mental breakdown.

I've got a structurally bollocksed right leg.  If it was made up of scaffolding, I think it would be made of brittle rubber and bound loosely together with Cheese String.  Because of this and my clever decision to keep running on it while it hurt, I've managed to lollop myself into an injury which is taking BLOODY AGES to fix.  No idea when I'll be able to pound pavements again.  I will be able to eventually, but I need to do some work on cheese string leg first and actually let myself heal.  

I've spent the last few months getting treatment (Swansea Body Kinetics), not running and assuming that tomorrow will be the day where I wake up with a fully functioning, pain free foot and leg.  Blind optimism and no patience got me nowhere.  I've been ignoring my frustration for weeks now, and it came to a head where I lost all sense of perspective and cried into my fried egg the other morning because it's just so UNFAIR!! I'm a runner and I go to the gym lots now - it's what WHO I AM!! 

Becky.  Mate.  It's not.  Maybe it's time to remember you had a personality before you started moving about more than you used to.  Maybe.  I think.

You're not suddenly not-a-person because you have to sit down a little more for a while.  Calm.  The fuck.  Down.  So...yeah...name change!  Less pressure to write about the running I'm not currently able to do = less weeping into my breakfast over a problem that isn't really a problem in the grand scheme of "problems you could have." Time for a list, then!

How To Be Injured

1.  Perspective
Have you actually lost a limb?  Are you suddenly homeless?  Is there no food in your fridge?  Do your friends and/or family no longer care about you?  Do you find yourself unable to hold down the day job?  Have they cancelled New Girl or Modern Family?  

No?

Then man the fuck up and develop a little patience!

2.  Stop Googling your injury
"I'll just have a quick search...tendons...plantar fasciitis...leg...Oh my God.  I'm going to have this problem forever! I'm going to have to live in a weird boot for the rest of my life, or get leg splints like Forest Gump....I'll never walk again!"

*walks perfectly normally to fridge to find some food items to cry into*

3.  Adapt
And by "adapt", I don't mean "go to Crossfit 5 times a week and do all of the movements that might still make the problem worse, because it's okay, I'm not running!"  I also don't mean  "adapt to a sedentary life on the sofa where you well up every time you see a pair of trainers on the telly."

4.  Don't overdo your stretches
Yeah...I've gone from having a sore foot, to a sore foot and entire leg that alternately feels like it's a bit on fire and slightly numb.  Gentle stretching means gentle stretching.  You are not made of melty toffee.  

You would like some melty toffee.

5.  P.M.A
Pinch my arse. No..positive mental attitude.  Remember that you will get better eventually, and just accept that you've got to make some alterations for now.  Allow yourself to feel frustrated sometimes, because it's natural. Don't swallow down your feelings, British style, because they will vom themselves back up in a wet explosion of drama and snotty tears that you could do without.  Grab a coffee and chuck a sitcom on while we wait this mild inconvenience out.  

Namaste.*

*Apologies if I used that in completely the wrong context.  I was hoping it would make me sound all wise and zen.  Did it work?  No?  Sorry.

 

28 Wise, Wise Wisdoms

Yes, it's that time of year again!  I've come through another whole 12 months during which I've saved up golden nuggets of priceless information, especially for you( Priceless because they won't accept them at Cash 4 Gold).  You lucky, lucky devil.

...Or I've not given this post any thought whatsoever until today, the day after my 29th birthday, and I've sat down to share whatever mulch I can squeeze out of my head (lush).  I've had a week off work, so the contents of my head have been diluted by Budweiser and day naps. Here goes....something!

1.  Budweiser tastes better when it comes out of a bottle with a screw top.  I don't know why.  Maybe that's a fact for me to share next year.

2.  Running for months on end on a sore foot doesn't "toughen it up."  This is a strategy for idiots. My brain, it turns out, was giving me alternative facts.

3.  Speaking of alternative facts... Next level alternate dimension shit does occasionally happen.  We live in a reality where a toupee wearing, baby handed man with no political experience is farting out terrible decisions from a mouth that looks like an anus is in charge of all of 'Murica.  #whereisdoctorwhowhenyouneedhim

4.  29 is not too old to get that Blink 182 tattoo you've wanted ever since you had a constellation of spots and wore eyeliner blacker than your soul (so...this morning, then?):

 

*endless squealing and heart emojis*

Yes, I am aware that with a heart tattoo and a movie quote on the same arm, my body is starting to resemble my secondary school notebooks.  No, I shan't be laminating myself.

5.  It is possible to discover that you are very very much a "dog person"rather than a cat person as you'd originally believed.  This knowledge comes after becoming the proud pet parent of a big-eyed, poop eating squish monster from the land of Cute.  I mean...after becoming a responsible dog owner.  HAVE YOU SEEN MY DOG?? HE IS THE COOLEST DOG IN THE WORLD AND I LOVE HIM SO MUCH, AND, just....

 SEE?!!

6. Guided meditation (see Headspace app - is v.g) is magical, especially if you're alert.  If no, you still win because you get to have a little snooze in the name of zen.  Am so spiritual now. 

7.  Crossfit has changed both my physical shape (I have actual arms now, as opposed to floppy toothpicks) and brain.  I no longer wish to be Beyonce (wouldn't turn down the offer to become her if it arose still, though.  Am not crazy), but instead pine over being a Davidsdottir or a Leblanc-Bazinet.  If unsure, do a Google image search.  But only after you've read this, because you'll disappear down a rabbit hole of impressive muscles and tiny shorts that you won't want to be rescued from.

8.  Putting a deposit down for a house does not make you feel more grown up.  It makes you feel more like a lady baby than ever because what do I do when the heating packs in?  What if I set it on fire by accident?  Do I have to start opening post addressed to "the home owner" now? What if someone steals it from me in the night?  Like, the whole house?  What if???

9.  You can only put on so much weight before you have to stop accepting friends' reassurances that "It's probably just muscle from all that going to the gym that you do."  If there is such a thing as a muffin top muscle, mine is in fantastic shape.

10.  Since A started making Youtube videos, I've learned that I turn into a duck voiced weirdo with the posture of a velocoraptor when a camera is pointed at me.  Or I look like that anyway and have only just realised. 

Nah.  I choose denial.  It's the camera.*

11.  Unless I'm drunk, it is now nearly impossible for me to stay awake after 10.30pm. Or wake up after 8am.  My body clock has either reversed into "small child" mode or "pensioner" settings.  

12.  Middle Sis is queen of buying gifts that both warm the heart and insult.  Case in point:

 

Cheers, pal

13.  There is a tipping point where the effort it takes to get drunk (3 day hang overs, wild mood swings & the need to sleep into the next ice age the following day)  starts to outweigh the fun of it.  The see saw I'm on is not going the way I'd like it to.  Boo hiss.

14.  These annual lists are getting so long that there is a new need to "refuel" with "brain food" part way through it.  Golden syrup on toast if you're interested.  

15.  The Harry Potter books are SO chuffing GOOD and if you stop at book 4 as a teenager because you've decided you're "too cool" for them, then you're wrong.  Dead wrong.  FYI, your favourite trousers are luminous pink flares.  You're not too cool for anything, little buddy.

16.  Nikes and Heavenly Feet are the only shoe brands you need. Ever.  Also Doc Martens, but you're too poor to buy those right now, and if you try to break a new pair in, your already battered foot may well finally fall off.

17.  It is possible to cut your own fringe and not be ridiculed as long as you don't grab the whole thing and lop straight through it like you used to. 

18.  A moustache looks frighteningly natural on me. 

It's like looking at Hulk Hogan's sexy younger brother, isn't it?

19.  28 is a big number of things to think up a list of stuff for.  No, I'm not stalling or filling up space for the sake of it.  Fine, you write it instead if it's so bloody easy!

20.  I must practice patience.  Maybe should stay awake for longer whilst listening to Headspace...

 

21.  Binning things is great!  I have thrown most of my current house away in readiness to move into the new one within the next couple of months.  I'm practically besties with the guys at the local rubbish tip now, and chucking out clutter makes me feel all clean inside.  Until we actually need something.

"Beck, have you seen the coasters/spatula/entire book case?"

"Erm..."

22.  Dogs are like tattoos.  You can't stop at one.  I have big plans to get a little sidekick for Jesse.  I firmly feel that he needs a tiny chihuahua body guard because HOW FREAKING CUTE WOULD THAT BE??  I could buy him a little "security" t shirt and...when did I become this person?

23. Audio books and podcasts are the absolute balls.  I can't walk the dog, go anywhere in my car or generally leave the house without being told a story or learning something about how my brain works.  I need a constant supply.  I couldn't name more than one person in the charts right now (one person is Justin Beiber/Bieber...  Is that right?  Am I hip now?), but I can reel off pop psychology factoids and anecdotes that aren't actually mine like a crap Yoda.

24.  It isn't enough for me to be a bit of a deaf bird.  I now own glasses and a hearing aid, but there is only so much space behind my right ear, so I have to choose whether I would prefer sight or hearing at any given moment.  Ooh! Or I need to invest in a monocle!  Where can I get  a good monocle?  Does anyone still make those?

25.  All of the movies have now been made.  Everything produced from here on in are going to be reboots and/or remakes.  Not all of them good.  I wanted to like Ghostbusters so badly...*sniff*

26.  Taking a Facebook hiatus doesn't turn you into the clear headed workaholic you secretly believe lives underneath all the procrastinating.  It just makes you miss Facebook a lot.  Facebook is king.  All hail Facebook.

27.  Hoarding pretty notebooks because "you might need them for something" is a worthy hobby.

28.   After your mid twenties, it's a good idea to keep back at least a quarter of your salary for Yankee candles.  You don't know why you need the smell of "fluffy towels" and angel's tears in your home at all times.  You just do.  

Yeah, I struggled to come up with that many things.... I think on my next "Wise, Wise Wisdoms" post, I might just have to post a picture of me shrugging with the caption I dunno, I forgot!  Underneath it.  I hope that this year's wisdome are...umm...useful?

Bye!

* Andy Price Vlogs: if you want to see me duck out of shot in several weeks' worth of videos =)

Ain't Got No Time For That

Left a fortnight between posts.  Again.  You know why?

BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE TIME!!!  As I get older, what little of it I am allotted per day is being condensed down into hours that feel like seconds; seconds that swirl rapidly down the plughole into oblivion faster than I can say "Agh!"  It's fucking terrifying. 

As kids, we don't believe our parents/grand parents/that old creep at the bus stop that time goes from "God, I'm so BORED" to "OhmyfuckingGod STOP!! I WANT TO GET OFF!!" in no time at all.  Great nights out that I reminisce about experiencing "a few months ago" are coming up on my Timehop app as being at their second anniversary.  

Kebabgate was how long ago??

Big life events like leaving school, graduating and learning to drive?  I don't even want to count how far back those things are.  Oh! Oh!  And that marathon I "just" ran?  About a year and a half ago.

My sentiments exactly, year-ago me.

I'm hyperventilating here at the flash forward I've just had of me,  five years from now, reading this exact post and thinking "but I only wrote this last week! What is this black magic?"  It's just...ugh!

As I'm hurtling through my life at Delorean speed (actually, maybe more like warp speed...didn't the Delorean only go to 66mph?  And it went back in time mostly.  Not forward.  Terrible metaphor, Becky.  Sort it out.  God), you'd have though I'd be a bit of an expert in prioritizing my most precious commodity in this wink of existence that is my life.  

So, am I any good at it?  I'll let you be the judge of that one.

 I present to you a list of what I do not have time for vs what I do.  Happy judging:

What I do not have time for

1.  Ironing -I really hope I'm not alone in this.  I buy my clothes based on whether or not I can get away with not ironing them because who wants to waste an hour of their day applying hot metal to fabric?  Not me.  Handy tip: stretchy, dark clothes are the best, because even if they're more creased than your great nan's elbows (heh.  You thought I was going to say worse then elbows, didn't you? Filth), you can stretch them right out!  The clothes, not the elbows.  Don't think your Nana would appreciate you tugging her excess skin this way and that.

2.  Cooking actual food - I had a toastie for dinner tonight.  Cheese and ham.  And then I ate some celery out of a bag.  I am trying to get better at the whole eating for actual, usable nutrition thing (like wot functioning grown-ups do)...I bought Lean in 15.  I fry the meats with the vegetables a couple of times a week. But mostly, I settle for the convenient.  The cheese and onion sandwich with the side order of cheese and onion crisps.  The cheese pastie.  Cheese on toast.  Basically, I have no time for any food that isn't cheese.

3.  Cleaning - I have a cat, a dog and a grown man who sheds more hair than the animals put together, so technically, I should be cleaning my house at least three times more than someone living alone.  Nah.  Instead, I glower at the fluff of mixed origins gathering between my toes, swear venomously at the dust that's piling up on every surface and chastise my belongings for not putting themselves away.  Then, in a fit of superhuman productivity (i.e when I've got something more pressing that I need to do that isn't cleaning), I will tornado round the house with a cleaning implement attached to each limb and smugly inform my boyfriend that I am better than him and he is lazy because "look how much I bloody well do around this place while you're sat there!  I'm a saint.  A SAINT!!"

4.  Coming up with neat blogging lists that end on nice numbers like 5 and 10 (as opposed to ending abruptly on weird ones like 4).

What I do have time for 

1. Talking (*cough* blogging *cough*) about all the things I don't have time to do - I have a pile of dishes to do, food shopping to gather and a dog to walk.  But...here I am!  Taa-daa...

2.  Sleeping - Anyone who's read this blog before will know I'm an expert napper.  I sleep like a performing acrobat on hallucinogenics (surprised I've not woken up on the ceiling yet), so naturally, my body feels that it's important to prioritize replenishing zzz's wherever possible.  Even if that is mid conversation at Andy's parents' house or when I'm sitting on the bed, about to put some socks on "to go to that important thing."

3.  Listing all the things that "I'll just do tomorrow." - This magical place called "tomorrow" is somewhere where Future Me is going to conquer the cleaning, the work load, the washing and the world!  It is a place of wonder.  A place of productivity.  A place where pigs might fucking fly.

4.  My phone -  Just had a thought.  What if time isn't getting faster, but instead phone apps are getting more absorbing?  Absorbing your attention, your time, your sense of reality... I'm sure I had a whole extra hour in the day before Pokemon Go came along.  Oh my God, that's it!  Quick, burn all the phones!  They are the vacuums into which our hours and days go to die!  Let us free ourselves from this electronic, wireless monkey cage! Let us...ooh, a text! BRB.

 



 

Obligatory Pokemon Go Post (Sorrynotsorry)

There is a small chance that I may have cooked using chillis this evening and have just touched my eyeball.  Sweet Lucifer's pyjamas, it burns!!  Going to power through it though, because I'm a champ...

Hello!  This post is going to be about Pokemon Go.  Am being up front about it to save anyone with little to no interest who has been buffeted (mmm...buffet) around the face with the constant stream of social media updates about this hideously addictive game.  This is another such post.  Sorry and see you next post (please come back, I love you!).  I wish you well.

Now, the rest of you...look what's on my computer! 

 

 Why are there always bloody pidgeys?! My locale is riddled with the fuckers

I'm often out walking the mutt, so this game's turned out to be a fun little distraction while I'm plodding around the neighborhood twice daily.  Also when I'm sat down in the house.  And when I'm stood up.  And waiting in queues in shops.  And when I'm stuck in non moving traffic.

...Okay, pretty much all the time that my eyes are open.  There, I said it.  It's just a phase..the novelty will wear off soon.  Probably.  Maybe.  Hopefully (help me).

If your Facebook feed is anything like mine, it's congested with updates from two very opposing camps:

1. Ohmigod, I caught a Thingyfluffymon level bajillion etc etc here's how I did it waah this is fun fun fun my legs hurt and I'm sixty miles from my house without a bus fare!  Hahahaha!  Can someone ring my mum?

2.  Urgh.  I have no interest in Pokemon Go.  So little in fact, that I am going to write at length about how little I care about on every social media platform I have.  I mean, it's just catching pretend animals on your phone - so stupid!

Of course it's stupid! It's a game.  It has no higher purpose than to amuse.  You can make anything sound idiotic if you phrase it a certain way:

• Ugh, cooking.  I mean, it's just heating things up until they're edible,right?  
• Ew, reading.  Just, like, looking at patterns that make pictures in your head.  Sooo dumb! 
• Breathing, amirite?  Sucking in oxygen and blowing out carbon dioxide.  Just, like...in, out, in, out...all day long. Booriiiiing!

I am in no way saying that Pokemon Go is akin to breathing, but I'm trying to make a valid (?) point about the social media put-you-downers, m'kay?  Keep breathing, dear reader.  Is good for you!  Or so I hear.  I've been sucked into this game (Pokemon Go, not breathing.  I've been into that for as long as I can remember.  Am very good at it.  At least level 70) for about a week now, so I thought I'd fling together some observations for you.  

Chances are if you've had a go at the game, you are reading this only out of desperation for something, anything to distract you from the fact that the game's servers have crashed yet again.  Word of advice - take this sudden bump back to a reality to go look after yourself.  Drink water.  Eat food.  And for God's sake, man, wash.  You're starting to smell a little funky from all the additional walking.  This post will still be waiting for you once you have taken care of your basic non Pokemon related human needs.  In fact, I will wait.

Welcome back!  You smell delicious.  So.  My experiences thus far with Pokemon Go and what you can expect from it if you have yet to try it:

If you play it and go for a run, looking mental is totally unavoidable
Also, the run will never be as short as you expect it to be.  Your route will go from a simple 3 mile loop round the block to a crazy zigzag experience that lasts 2 hours as you visit "just one more Pokestop, it's really close!"  My 2 mile, slightly hung over bimble to pick up my car up from a local pub on Sunday turned into a 7 mile, messy sprint-walk-pause-to-wait-for-servers-to-work...sprint...stop...jog...sprint...thing.  I imagine from an aerial vantage point, I must have looked like one of those flies that bump crazily into invisible walls in the air, constantly changing its course.  Why do flies do that, by the way?  Do they have tiny mobile phones that we can't see? 

You will get unnecessarily emotionally involved when you encounter a new critter
OH MY GOD, I DON'T HAVE THAT CAT THING, IS SO CUTE! I must have it!  I will throw all of the balls...I need to own this cartoon thing that only exists in my phone and will impress no one.  It is the most important thing in the..oh, nearly got it..one more...

What.  

WHERE THE FUCK HAS IT GONE!! I ALMOST HAD IT!! Why are those children backing away from me?  How did I end up in the middle of a packed park?

You will sink to new lows
You can use your new imaginary friends to do battle with other people's imaginary friends at designated stops out in the world called Pokemon gyms.  Once you have kicked their Pokemon out of the gym it is guarding by whooping its ass and knocking it out, you can install your Pokemon and take the gym over for the team you represent (blue, red or yellow).  Victory and all that.  Through doing this, I've discovered the uncomfortable truth that I'm not above concealing myself around the corner from a small child who is bravely manning his post close to the nearest gym and kicking his virtual butt into the next school term, laughing openly to myself at his misfortune.  Take that, tiny human!  That'll set your expectations for the real world!  Sucks, dunnit?  Bwahahaha!

Your boundaries between game and reality may get a bit wonky
After one morning's productive "hunting," I may have forgotten how to play fetch with my real life, flesh and blood pet animal and thrown his tennis ball at him and not for him...more than once.  Needless to say, he wasn't captured and added to my statistics, much to my disappointment. He'd make a crap Pokemon anyway.  Does this look like a ferocious beast to you?

A wild puppy appeared!

Special attack: sooper derp

 Level: Minus 12

 

 Happy hunting all, and try not to make small children cry!