Showing posts with label adulthood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adulthood. Show all posts

Sunday, 25 February 2018

Fire, foofs and fear. A reflection on Stephen King's 'It'

Finally bit the bullet and changed my URL to 'Rebecca Writes and Ran'. Acceptance of my indefinite existence as a wonky-footed invalid feels freeing. Well done on finding your way back to me in spite of the new web address. Take a free compliment from the list below:

Option 1:  You are wonderful and people should buy you shiny trinkets.
Option 2:  Your face is radiant like the sun, and it hurts to look directly at it.
Option 3:  How you doin'? *looks you up and down*

This month, I are mostly been reading, and what I are mostly been reading is Stephen King's 'It'. I'm a bit late to the party, I know, but I wanted to read It before I see either movie - although I might never watch the original, because I don't want my adoration of Tim Curry to be squashed - I've heard it's a bit shit.

Anyway, I loved  the book! I didn't expect it to be so much fun. It captures how children think and feel perfectly, and you know when a baddie's a good one when you're chuffed whenever they make an appearance.

"Yay, the murdering clown is back, and this time he's all oozy!"

It's definitely a book with a couple of problematic bits (gratuitous kiddie sex for starters - from this post on, I'm going to block that particular scene from my memory. Hurrah for selective amnesia!), but overall, I loved it. Made me think about what I was scared of as a kid vs what frightens me now as an adult, so, naturally, I'm going to talk about it on the internet.

I don't think much scared me when I was a curly-haired, dinosaur loving Beckychild compared to what gives me the willies these days. Here are the top 3 fears of baby Becks:

1. That I wouldn't know everything by the time I was a grown-up. I legit believed that you had to know pretty much everything by the time you're an adult, or you failed, and so I asked questions from the second my eyes snapped open, to the moment  I passed out, knackered from bothering all the adults for their adulty wisdom all day:

"Yeah, but how do we know the moon and the sun aren't the same thing??"

Shame Google wasn't around back then. Might have given my poor parents a bit of peace.

2. Death. I was a morbid little shit, and used to lie in bed for hours, not sleeping and terrifying myself with the idea that I, me, the center of the universe, just won't exist one day. How could that be possible? Surely the world will have nothing to revolve around?

3. Embarrassment. Very little embarrasses me today. It's hard to take yourself too seriously when you're aware of how ridiculous a human you are, and how all humans are, but up until about the age of 10/11 (okay, let's be honest....19/20), I tackled life with the utmost seriousness. I would become good at everything, and failure was not an option. Cue the day the teacher reads out that you've written "foof" instead of "roof" on your spelling test. The shame! The humiliation!

Fast forward a couple of decades, and here's what gives me a hefty hit of the heeby jeebies:

1. Death. No change there. Still morbid. Last year, I even went through a moment of "Maybe I should pick a religion, just in case?" Pretty sure that's not how faith works...

2. Fire. I've only had this one since I've had pets. Every time I leave the house, I get flash forward of my fur babies being barbecued in my absence. This is when I have to turn my car around for the third time that morning to check that my GHD's are unplugged, the phone chargers' sockets are off, the oven is dormant, and none of my furniture has spontaneously combusted. To top it off, there's a house on the other side of the motorway that I live next to that has orange lights in one of its rooms - whenever I'm walking up the hill to my house, the light is positioned behind my house in a way that makes it look like my spare room is aflame. It freaks me out every single frigging time I see it. Ugh.

3. Doing life wrong - like there'll be a test at the end that you're graded on.

"What if people realise I'm a bit odd?"
They do, and it's fine.

"Aren't I supposed to have sold a bunch of books by now?"
Might help if you bothered to write one....

"Do I spend too much time on Facebook/the internet in general?"
Dunno. Let's Google what the average is.

4. Being a bit hungry. Hunger leads to hanger, and no one enjoys that alter ego of mine. What's her problem?

5. Time. I could have sworn that yesterday was Christmas day, 2012. Where am I? Who is this man I'm living with? Can I have a sandwich?

I could go on and on about the fear-riddled mass of anxiety I've become as a growed-up, but I'd be here all day, and I've got shit to do.

The take-away that I've got from writing this list is that if Pennywise/It lived in the sewers of Hendy, Carmarthenshire, It would likely present itself to me as a lighter-weilding teacher whose mission is to take my snacks away from me. It would also be wearing one of those big house clocks round its neck like a rapper from the early 90s.

What daft form would fear take for you?


 "Fear? We thought you said beer!" haw haw etc etc. 
I'll show myself out...

Tuesday, 9 August 2016

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.

 



 

Saturday, 7 November 2015

Too Old for this Ish

Current status:  Sitting with a bird's nest on top of my head and a cup of tea (cup of tea is on table, not head. Bird's nest not stable enough to stand hot beverages on). Fluffy dressing gown deployed.  Slippers are go.  I am one bad ass father-mucker.   Considering going for a 3 mile shuffle around the block, but the dressing gown might make me look a few chunks short of a stew.  

I can't handle hang overs any more.  I'm nearing my twenty eighth birthday and quickly realising that I'm no longer one of them "yoots" (innit).  Last week, I went to Cyprus to attend a friend's wedding, along with 40-odd other people.  It was a magical day: we laughed, we cried, A gave a best man's speech (he was actually best man. Didn't just bulldoze his way into the speeches for shits and giggles), we were flung around by traditional Cypriot dancers.  Much memories.  Such wedding.

It was the other 6 days that nearly had me crying to my mummy, clutching my poor, pickled liver.  I met some fantastic girls who had also come down for the occasion, but fuck me, they could drink! I thought I liked a bit of the falling down water, but these girls were in another league altogether.  Every night they had us piled into taxis to Ayia Napa for shots, shouts and shisha pipes (also dubious cocktails dispensed from giant, plastic cocks), and every night I had the kind of night where you go home with a sore face from smiling so much (or in my case, a sore face from tripping over my own feet and face planting a board walk.  Classy girl).  But the mornings.  I don't think there was a morning on that holiday where I didn't wake up with some degree of hang over.  They ranged from "Oof, my head's a bit hurty.  I think I'll sleep it off on the sun loungers" to 

"CALL AN AMBULANCE, I THINK THE ALIEN OFF OF ALIENS IS ABOUT TO BURST OUT OF MY STOMACH!!  SHUT THE WINDOWS! BRING ME FOOD.  DON'T LOOK AT MEEEEE!!!"

This enlightening experience has taught me that there are certain things I can't handle as well as I used to be able to as I clatter my way through adulthood.  Here goes, then:

Drinking

See above example.  Every time I go out, I now need at least 3 days to recover.  By no means have I stopped my beloved nights on the tiles, but the recovery time is much, much more grim that it used to be.  As a student, I could take full advantage of the drinks discounts on Student Night in town and then happily trot off to work in Debenhams the next day for my 9am shift.  Sure I had to spend the occasional 5 minutes hiding in the big, walk-in freezer going "Uuuuuunngh!", but it was mostly okay.  Nowadays, my hang overs span 3 phases over as many days:

Phase 1: The Hang Over - this is the part that is traditionally associated with the day after the night before.  Headache.  Stroppiness.  Desire to eat anything and everything at eye level.  Standard.

Phase 2: The Feels - This is like PMS on 'roids.  Am extremely sensitive and prone to getting a bit teary eyed at adverts.  "What do you mean stop crying?  SO many people haven't claimed back their PPI.  They could be owed thousands.  IT'S SO SAD!!"

Phase 3: The ZZZs - Feeling deceptively human, but so mentally drained that I can't remember basic vocabulary and the fact that I can't actually walk through walls.

Trying to be liked

Okay, yeah.  I'm a people pleaser, so part of me will always care at least a bit what people think of me.  I hate the idea of making someone feel bad or letting them down, even if by "letting someone down" I mean being a fraction of a second late to meet them for coffee.  But, I have given up on agonizing over whether people like me, which is an excellent development because it frees up my brain for higher purposes like deciding whether to grill or microwave my bacon or whether I should start wearing more hats.

It's not my business what a person thinks of me, and trying to force friendship on anyone only makes things worse. I'd like to think this lesson came to me because I'm maturing, but I think it has more to do with how cats react when I hug them too hard.

Sitting down without going "oof"

At what age did this become something I do??  I'm only twenty seven and I've already started making grandpa noises.  It's only a matter of time before I start standing in my doorway, shaking my fist and telling the neighbour kids to get off my damn lawn.

Getting up without saying "oof"

Same.

Mess

Much like with the drinking, this one's a bit hypocritical.  Am currently surrounded by the flotsam and jetsam of household crap that needs putting away/dusting/pushing under to bed to be ignored until I desperately need the thing and can't remember where the hell I put it so I have to go out and buy a new thing, only to find the old thing when I've already made the purchase of the new thing.  Difference is, mess never used to bother me.  It does now.  I'm hardly a domestic goddess (or anywhere in the hierarchy of domestic deities to be fair), but I can't relax when I'm surrounded by my own crap (as in stuff. I'm messy, not filthy).  I actually clean these days.  And sometimes... don't tell anyone... I enjoy it.

I know.  I know.  It sickens me too.

Welp.  I'll be off then.  Time to think about what I can drink tonight at Mr & Mrs Cyprus' home wedding do that will give me enough pretend confidence to attempt to force friendship on some more people, while I dig through a pile of clothes, looking for a particular pile of clothes within the pile of clothes.  I'd better get up now.



Oof.

 Cyprus, take me back!  I promise I'll behave this time!