Where's My F***ing Cake?! Part 3: Danger, Will Robinson!

So, after a fairly “easy” start, I’ve finally stumbled quite spectacularly into the danger zone. That’s the point in every weight loss attempt when I start to feel restless and coveting all that awesome food that I’ve been very virtuous about ignoring up until now. Ironically, it usually coincides with the first signs that the deprivation is actually working. My clothes feel looser, I have more energy, people start to notice that I look “different” in some vague way etc. All these should be good things, which they are, but it’s the people noticing that I struggle with the most. I’ve always had trouble accepting the inevitable “you look so good now” comments that come along with weight loss. I am not disagreeing that fat is ugly, and anyone overweight is going to look better when there’s less of them, but I do struggle with the feeling that no matter what else happens, you’re always going to be more “acceptable” if you’re thin than if you’re fat. Maybe that’s unfair of me, in fact I’m sure it is, but it’s hard to break that mindset. And yeah, I get that it is entirely my issue and people are actually being kind when they comment, but unfortunately a lifetime of dieting has kind of warped my mind when it comes to these things. Anyway, this time around the very mild physical changes also coincided with a sudden influx of online articles about the evils of fat people. Okay, they weren’t really about that, they were mostly about some woman who wrote a blog on the Marie Claire website about how she hates fat people and they’re all disgusting blah blah blah. This apparently created a shit storm amongst Marie Claire readers who were appalled and offended by the article, which in turn spawned a whole lot of other articles about the reaction to the original one. Now the issue for me was not the original article because I don’t read Marie Claire and I wouldn’t have known it existed if it wasn’t for the resulting brouhaha. It wasn’t even about the articles written about the readers reactions or the writer’s inevitable apology. The unfortunate thing for me is my compulsion to read the comments on the follow-up articles which, not surprisingly, mostly consisted of people saying they agree with the original writer and embellishing on the idea that fat people should be shot at birth. Or, you know, words to that affect. Yes, I know I shouldn’t take it personally, and it certainly doesn’t matter what complete strangers on the internet think, but it didn’t help when I was already feeling bad about eating more than I should anyway. And it’s always depressing to be reminded that so many people suck, even when it has nothing at all to do with me. Of course the inevitable irony of feeling bad about my weight is that it only makes me want to eat more. Which I did. And not in that good, 'I’m enjoying my meal so I just don’t care' kind of way. So yeah, all of that is a long-winded way of saying that I’ve been kind of crap at the dieting lately. Although it’s also an odd sort of relief because it was all a bit too easy for a while there, so at least this feels more normal. Oh, and I did get to have some awesome cake before the guilt set in, so that was a bonus.

Happily Unsociable

I have recently uncovered the key to living with social ineptitude that could have saved me countless painful evenings in the company of near-strangers: Just. Say. No. It’s so simple yet so effective; I’m almost embarrassed to admit I haven’t tried it earlier. I stumbled upon this amazing technique when I decided I'd had enough of trying to force myself into being something I’m not (social, entertaining, interesting etc.) so I just wasn't going to bother anymore. It took some practice, and a few false starts, but I'm now quite adept at it. One of the key elements, I’ve discovered, is to offer no excuse. Saying “I’m busy” or “I have something else on” just invites polite questions about the obviously fabulous social event that’s keeping you from this one. A smile and a mildly disappointed look while saying “I’m sorry, I can’t make it” is all that’s required. And the best part is that nine times out of ten no one asks why. Perhaps they don’t ask because they don’t really care if I’m there or not, which is a win-win in my book. Most often I think they don’t ask because it’s assumed the only reason you’d turn down any social invitation is because you had something else to do, which is actually kind of true. They just don’t need to know that the something else is staying home with a good book rather than subjecting myself (and others) to the horror of my attempted socialising. On the very rare occasions that they do ask I’ve taken the boldly honest approach of admitting that I'm just not keen on parties, which most people seem to accept as a valid excuse, at least to my face.

Now I’m kicking myself for all those years of going along to things when I really didn't want to, or thinking up excuses and then feeling guilty about them. Don’t get me wrong, I do very much enjoy going out and spending time with my friends and family, and I even enjoy meeting new people, I just don't enjoy the big party or group dinner with people I don’t know – or worse, with people I do know, but don’t have anything much in common with. It’s not personal, I’m sure they’re all very lovely and interesting people, but I’ve never been capable of small talk and getting-to-know-you conversation, and I just can’t be arsed feeling guilty about it anymore. And while I appreciate the kindness and attempted inclusiveness, most of the time I really am happy to be “left out.” I do think a lot of it comes down to age; it’s so much easier being a dull homebody in my 40s than it ever was in my 20s. It’s a myth that all young people like going out, partying, getting drunk etc. I never did. Of course I do wish I could look back fondly on a wild and crazy youth, but I've never been inclined to do anything particularly wild or crazy, even then. I imagine that to some, much more sociable people, the idea of always choosing a quiet night in over a “fun” party is unthinkable, possibly even a little sad, and maybe they’re right. The main difference now is that I don't much care what people think anymore. Middle age is kind of awesome like that.

Where's My F***ing Cake?! Part 2: Dazed and Confused.

So it’s been a few weeks since I entered the sucky, deprivation filled world of dieting and the bad mood should really be kicking in about now, but so far it hasn’t surfaced. Normally by this stage I’d start daydreaming about food cartoon-style - streetlamps look like ice cream cones, people’s heads look like giant donuts etc. I should be imagining everything tastes better than the drab food I have to eat and racing through the chocolate aisle at the supermarket trying to avoid eye contact with the Lindor balls, but it just isn’t happening this time around, and it's kind of freaking me out! I am making sure I get a small treat most days, and I have given myself permission to enjoy anything I like in restaurants since I don’t eat out all that often anyway, so I’m not completely deprived. But mostly I think having a good reason (other than to be smaller) to keep at it has made the biggest difference. Motivation appears to work for me, who knew? It’s quite the revelation. I do still expect the bad times to kick in sooner rather than later, but that might just be my innate pessimism talking.

I have done some things differently this time around to give myself the maximum opportunity to succeed; I've told people, for one. Not everyone, and only if it comes up in general conversation, but I have actually said it out loud several times. Most people are supportive, encouraging and sympathetic, even the ones who haven't had to deal with a weight problem themselves. Telling people is always a double-edged sword, however. While on the one hand it makes it easier to turn down food being offered without making it a big deal, on the other I also have to deal with those people who take it upon themselves to "help" me. You know the ones, watching everything that goes into your mouth, making little comments like "are you allowed to have that?" and "aren't you on a diet?" I know they're trying to be helpful but you know what? It doesn't help. Not even a little bit. I am more than capable of feeling guilty all by myself, thanks. To be fair, these are generally the people that don't know me very well, because if they did they'd know it’s not going to be appreciated. I know they mean well and they think they’re helping me stay on the straight and narrow but, and I say this with all the kindness and understanding in the world, they really need to shut the fuck up. No one wants to feel judged and criticised, especially about something that they judge and criticise themselves for every day.

I’ve also just not been so hard on myself when things do go awry. Of course there has been the occasional bump in the road and cravings that just had to be satisfied, but I have avoided falling into a pit of despair because of it, which is a major hurdle in itself. I do guilt so well, and never as efficiently as when I’m making myself feel bad about something inconsequential. And I miss cake. A lot. While I can be satisfied with a comparatively small amount of chocolate, I can’t just have a little bit of cake, and I don’t want to waste my cake eating on something less than awesome anyway, so I’m holding out until a slice of something really luscious crosses my path, then I’m going to savour every bite - and not feel guilty about it! I just hope some well-meaning do-gooder doesn’t try to come between me and my moderately consumed guilt-free cake, or there will be tears. Almost certainly mine.

The Other Diet

I read something the other day about going on a "shopping diet" where you stop spending money on anything other than the bare necessities. Turns out I've been on that one for a while, and it's a much more successful diet than the other, infinitely more sucky one where I give up eating all the lovely, delicious things that I enjoy so much. I inadvertently started shopping dieting a couple of months ago when I got a letter from Telstra telling me they were cutting the cost of my monthly internet access by $50. That’s right, they’re actually charging me less. I know, I couldn’t believe it either! So now I had an extra $50 a month to put towards my very slow growing holiday savings fund. It got me thinking about how I could save more money and, much like the other kind of diet, I knew I had to take a good look at my spending habits if I was going to make some real changes. First off I placed an embargo on all book and DVD purchases until further notice. Now normally I would consider these items crucially important to my day to day happiness, however working in a library should mean never having to buy a book or DVD, so I really had no excuse other than wanting something and wanting it now rather than waiting my turn. This one is easy to keep because I still feel a very strong sense of shame when I see the piles of unread books I’ve bought over the last couple of years that I so desperately had to have at the time. I also have a healthy collection of DVDs still wrapped in plastic. This is the reason I actively avoid JB HiFi stores, I'm a sucker of those "buy me I'm cheap" stickers. I will, however, never skimp on music. That’s a different thing entirely. I’ll always buy a CD or pay for a download of something I really want because, unlike the books and DVDs, I know I'll actually listen to it.

It was much harder to give up the things that seem fairly small on their own, but add up to a lot of wasted money in the long run. The occasional pair of earrings or a new lipstick. Magazines I skim through but never really read. Impulsive “no reason” presents for my niece or nephew. Even seemingly useful things like plastic containers (one of my major vices) are superfluous when I already have a kitchen cupboard full of them. And of course actual food dieting also helps since (in theory, anyway) I won't be buying all those lovely treats that I usually can't resist. I’ve had to re-evaluate the shopping habits of a lifetime, and the weird part is, after the initial feelings of deprivation, it turns out I don’t actually mind all that much. Maybe it’s middle age or maybe I’ve finally just learned to be sensible, but my shopping diet is nowhere near as painful as the other diet. I still miss the shopping buzz, that tiny moment of joy I’d get from buying something pretty but ultimately unnecessary, but I don’t actually miss the excess stuff. Occasionally I have to fight the desire for instant gratification to avoid paying full price for something that I know I can get cheaper elsewhere, or at least force myself to wait a few weeks until the same thing is on sale. And I can't quite bring myself to be as frugal as I'd really like to be, but I'm a lot closer than I was. I've even unsubscribed from most of my shopping emails so I won't be tempted by apparent "bargains" that really aren't. I feel smug when I don’t spend money that I could have spent, and I even get a small buzz from watching my savings increase. Now, if I could just transfer that feeling of smug satisfaction to food deprivation and weight loss I’d be laughing. Unfortunately, while I will hopefully have some temporary success in that area, I think chocolate will always win the final battle, especially if it’s on sale.

Where's My F***ing Cake?!

Do you know what I hate? Dieting. Do you know why? Because it sucks. I know this because I've done it many, many times, and I've even lost considerable amounts of weight doing it. It's just that it always comes back, and then some. And do you know why that is? Because I like to eat. Eating is awesome. Food is one of my great pleasures in life. I eat when I'm happy and I eat when I'm sad. I eat to celebrate and I eat to commiserate. I love the anticipation of a great meal. I love to cook. I love sharing food with people who also love to eat. It's a wonderful thing to do, and I indulge in it as often as possible. I have sworn off dieting for the last 10 years, which has been fantastic food-wise, but disastrous waistline-wise. So it is with a heavy heart that I have to accept that the time has come to give it another go. When I say I haven't dieted for 10 years, I really mean I just haven't tried very hard. I've attempted half-arsed “dieting”, which usually consists of promising myself I'll eat less and exercise more while still remaining very casual about it. While I like this system in theory, and I'm sure it works for some, the reality is that it doesn't work for me. I know if I'm actually going to achieve any proper weight loss then I need to do it the hard way: calorie counting and deprivation. I hate those bastards too, by they way. So yeah, here I go again. Oh, and while I'm on the subject, you know what else I hate? Exercise. In fact I think I hate exercise even more than I hate not being able to eat whatever I like. While I know I will have to do some exercise at some point, right now I'm going to concentrate on the deprivation before I add the very special horror of exercise to my list of crap I really don't want to do, but have to.

The reasons for reactivating my dieting efforts are simple. Firstly, it's time. I'm 41 years old and despite having been overweight all my life, have yet to suffer any major illness, weight related or otherwise. I've never spent a night in hospital. Never been to emergency. I don't even get the flu very often. I can only assume this is just dumb luck, because I ain't doing anything right. Being overweight, eating badly and not exercising should put me in the very tip top category for “lifestyle” related illnesses, but so far I've managed to avoid anything serious. Thing is, I know that my luck has to run out sooner or later, and maybe I should do something before it becomes a genuine problem. But that's not even the biggest factor in all this. My chief motivation is wanting to travel, something I haven't done since I turned 30. Now, financial constraints aside, I feel my biggest travel obstacle is my arse. Literally. My arse will have to be considerably smaller if I'm going to squeeze it into a reasonably priced plane seat. And as I have been promised much amazing food when I get to the other side, I feel it is finally a good enough reason to step away from the cake and make an effort, if only so I can travel to the other side of the world and eat up a storm!

I should warn you now that this may or may not become a regular blog theme. It's not something I would usually write about, and I am so not a fan of those dieting blogs where someone writes about their “journey” and it's all terribly emotional and uplifting and life changing. Fuck that shit. Given that I have a pretty good idea who the handful of people who read this are, I feel fairly safe and comfortable sharing my dieting hardship here, should anyone care to read it. Writing helps me get my frustrations out, and posting it on the internet helps keep me nice and angsty, so any diet blogs will largely consist of swearing and complaining. I also think it's a way of being more accountable, even if it's only to myself. For now, as much as I know it will suck, I'm actually looking forward to it. I will enjoy my final week of eating and then I will probably enjoy a couple of weeks, maybe a month, of feeling virtuous and healthy before proper diet grumpiness kicks in. That's when the real fun begins.

Be Still, My Bleeding Heart

I consider myself to be very liberal. I believe very strongly in the “live and let live” philosophy. I don't consider my views or opinions to be the most important, or even necessarily correct, they are just mine and yours are yours and everyone is entitled to their own. I also believe I'm very tolerant of all kinds of differences. I'm not religious, but I respect everyone's right to believe (or not believe) in the God of their choosing. I'm not gay, but I don't see why gay people shouldn't be given the exact same legal rights to marriage as everyone else. I believe everyone should have access to the best possible health care and education regardless of their economic situation. I believe everyone in Australia has a right to be treated equally and fairly whether they were born here, migrated here or arrived by boat in a desperate attempt to flee their homeland. I am a bleeding heart liberal, and proud of it. But, perhaps ironically, the one area I find it difficult to be tolerant of the opposing viewpoint is politics. I admit it, for all my liberal leanings, conservatives confuse the hell out of me! Now, while I'm tempted to turn this into a political rant, especially as there is a Federal Election going on as I write this, I think I'll spare you that particular pleasure. But I have been wondering if I can consider myself to be genuinely liberal if I am so intolerant of the opposing viewpoint. I don't have to like them, and I certainly don't have to vote for them, but shouldn't I at least accept the conservative view to be just as reasonable and valid as my own? Does it make me a bad liberal if I don't? I feel at this point I should explain for any non-Australians who may be reading that the main conservative party in Australia is called The Liberal Party, so it's not bad enough that I find their politics objectionable, but it also really pisses me off that it's almost impossible to call yourself a “liberal” in Australia without having to explain that you actually mean you're not a conservative. I'm sure they did that all those years ago just to annoy me. Which is one more thing that I don't understand about them. So where does this leave me on the liberal scale? Can I be a truly open minded if I find closed mindedness intolerable? Should I be working on acceptance rather than railing against the conservatism? Am I, in fact, just as bad as they are? More importantly, why don't they just agree with me?! I'm not actually expecting answers, and I may just be trying to come to terms with a potential conservative government led by an idiot in a speedo, but the very liberal side of me is slightly disturbed by my obvious bias against conservatives. I would like to think I could change, but it would be so much easier if they just weren't so damn wrong.

Techologically Unbalanced

Technology annoys me. I hate the way it insists on evolving and being responsible for new and covetable items that I feel I need to have, even though I was perfectly happy with what I already had until this new thing came along. After years of complaining about texting and how useless I am at it, I finally traded up to a phone with a full keyboard that makes texting so much easier. It’s also great for a quick email check or internet search when I’m away from a computer. It's perfect. Well, it was perfect until somebody let me play with their iPhone. Now I want one of those instead. Or as well as, if I could think of a way to justify both. This is annoying because I was really enjoying this phone. It’s fun to use and is so far above anything I've had previously, and had I not been introduced to the iPhone I would be none the wiser. But I've got the idea of the shiny new gadget into my head, so what was a great phone now seems like second best.

Of course there’s always the fear that I will give up something I’m happy with only to find the new item is just not as good as the old one. I had a great DVD player. It was stupidly cheap, but it played DVDs (which is all I was asking, to be fair) and it would remember my place even when I turned it off or took the disc out. I realise this is quite standard technology, but I'd always get just a little excited to have it pick up from where I left off with no scanning backwards and forwards and trying to remember where I was up to. Then I decided to get a DVD recorder for those rare times that I actually wanted to record something. I couldn’t justify the cost of a PVR, so I figured this was a reasonable alternative. It works fine and does what I need it to do, but it doesn’t save my place like the old one did. Now every time I have to waste time trying to find where I got up to I just get annoyed all over again. And on a much more superficial level, it’s not as pretty as the old one. That one was sleek and silver and unobtrusive. This one’s black and clunky and takes up more space. While it is "better" in theory because it records, I still miss the old one. Although I am pleased it found a good home - I passed it on to my mother who’s also very impressed when it saves her place, so at least its legacy lives on.

Now, as much as I want the iPhone, the reality is my phone works fine, is still relatively new and makes me happy, so why can’t I get past the overwhelming desire for a different one? And it would also mean retiring my beloved iPod which despite being almost four years old, has never given me a moment’s concern. So this leaves me with a difficult dilemma - do I move on to something better (in theory), and leave the past behind, even though I've been happy with it up until now? Or do I stick with what I’ve got which, although slightly outdated and imperfect, I’ll be very sad let go? And why must stupid technology change and improve just to torture me, anyway? I'm so happy when I don't know any better. In my ideal world I’d still be content not sending text messages while listening to records and making mix tapes that I could play on my awesome Sony Walkman.

Un-relaxation

So I went away this past weekend, and it was lovely. We stayed in a beautiful house and I spent lots of quality time with my gorgeous niece and nephew, which I love. And it was very relaxing, which I also love. But it also helped confirm something that I’ve suspected for a while: I’m really bad at going on holiday. I think the main problem lies in the fact that I don’t actually need to relax. I’m very good at relaxing, I‘ve had lots of practice, and I have no need to “get away” from my usual life to do it. I don’t have a stressful job or difficult home life, and I’m pretty content with my day to day activities. Going on the kind of holiday where I sit in a nice house or fancy hotel always seems like a great idea, but great location and company aside, I‘ve decided that it‘s just not the right kind of holiday for me anymore. For a start there’s usually no internet access, or if there is it comes at a premium price. I’ve long given up on feeling guilty for the amount of time I spend online. Why would I deprive myself of something I enjoy so much just because it might seem a little unsociable? Especially considering I’m generally unsociable by nature anyway. Still, I think I subconsciously feel that I need to be punished for my internet interest and I must take any opportunity to go without. Which I suppose isn’t so bad in theory, but the internet is responsible for the vast majority of my entertainment these days, so without it I‘m relegated to whatever‘s on TV or in magazines and newspapers. I would add books, which is normally a great way to pass the time, but I just don‘t read anywhere near as much as I used to, unfortunately. (I suspect the internet is partly to blame for that, too.) I’m also a creature of habit, and I don’t much like leaving my comfort zone. It only takes a lumpy bed or an unruly shower to remind me why being wherever I am is not as good as being at home.

This revelation isn’t all bad, however. I have decided that I just need to take holidays where I actually do things, go places and see stuff. In other words, I need an un-relaxing holiday. I need the kind of holiday that I come home from feeling like I need a holiday to recover from it. I haven’t had one in years, due mostly to financial constraints and increasing laziness as I amble towards middle age. I need to get out and do things more in general, and if I’m going to take the time, energy and expense to travel somewhere, I think it’s time I actually started doing things when I get there. Not that I'll be doing anything too exciting considering I’m probably the least adventurous person you’ll ever meet. My idea of roughing it is staying in a three star hotel, and even that’s pushing my comfort levels. And I’m certainly not the outdoorsy type, so I‘m not going to be climbing mountains or exploring oceans. The aforementioned laziness doesn’t help, either. Regardless of all that, I’m determined that the next time I actually go somewhere on holiday it’s going to be as un-relaxing as possible...without heading too far out of my comfort zone, naturally. Or at least I’m going to spend as much time out of the hotel/house than I do in it, even if it‘s just to wander around shops, visit tourist attractions and sit in restaurants. I have considered the alternative option of just getting a more stressful life to make the relaxing seem more worthwhile, but the un-relaxation method seems like a lot less effort.

The unpacking's finally done.

So I've moved the last of the MySpace blogs over here just because I like the idea of having them all in one place. I don't think I would have even considered blogging if it hadn't been for MySpace, so I am a little sad to be making the final move away from it. I liked having that little corner of the internet where I could quietly go about my business, and I was always surprised and touched when people took the time to read and comment. It gave me the confidence to keep going, when confidence isn't normally something I'm in possession of. But as much as I fight it, change is inevitable, so I'm settling into my new home. It feels scarier here, less intimate and more impersonal, but I don't know that that's necessarily a bad thing. One thing I have come to realise very recently is that I really enjoy the process of writing these blogs, even if they've often caused my already high levels of anxiety and self-doubt to go through the roof. Just learning to put my thoughts into vaguely coherent sentences makes it worthwhile for me, so it really doesn't matter where they are or how many people read them. I'll still be quietly ranting away in this little corner, should anyone care to join me.

Um, what?

One thing I've learnt from 20 years of working in public libraries is that most people are nice. The vast majority of them aren't out to be difficult or rude, they don't want to be unreasonable or argumentative. On the whole, the general public are polite and decent. It makes me happy to know this, and it makes it easier to deal with the very few that aren’t so nice. Most of the time. Some days it’s not so easy to deal with. Those days seem to be made up of that man who stands at the photocopier clicking his fingers when he needs help, without even looking up or an "excuse me", like I'm at his beck and call. Or the person who answers their phone in the middle of an enquiry and expects me, and the people waiting impatiently behind them, to just hang about until they're done. Then there's the guy who doesn't seem to get why it's really not appropriate to look at porn on the library computers. And on very rare occasions there are people like the man who bailed me up for ten minutes with a story that he seemed to think was particularly witty and interesting, but was actually just dull and stupid. I listened politely and laughed when he thought I should because it seemed like the right thing to do. Unfortunately this must have led him to believe I was some kind of kindred spirit, because he then went on to make an appallingly racist comment, obviously expecting me to agree with him. I am not a confrontational person, especially at work, but I do have an excellent cold hard bitch glare that I bring out on rare occasions when I really want to make my feelings known. He visibly flinched, so I assume it was a particularly good one. Then he wandered off without even ending the conversation, leaving me to alternate between anger at his ignorance and horror that he seemed to think I was also a racist. It's hard not to be offended by that. Those are the days I need to be reminded that people are basically nice, which they are. Mostly.

Better late than never

I've recently become enthralled with The West Wing. Oh yes, I know everyone was watching it years ago when it was actually on television, but not me. Nope, I prefer to wait until everyone has seen it, raved about it, been obsessed with it and then moved on before I actually get into something new. Of course by now just about everyone who's going to watch it has watched it, so once again I'm left with a new obsession and no one to share it with. And this is one situation in which the internet is useless, because looking up a television show that's already ended is just asking for trouble. It can only lead to finding out all the good stuff that happens in episodes that you haven't seen yet because it's all been written about and discussed long ago. It wouldn't bother me so much except I do it over and over again. I do it with television shows, books, movies and music. I miss the boat on pretty much anything worth enjoying and discussing, at least until it's too late and everyone else has already boarded another boat entirely. It's not that I don't know what's popular, quite the contrary, it's just a combination of procrastination and stubbornness that keep me permanently out of the loop. I know there are shows that everyone's talking about and I manage to not only miss them when they air, but I can’t seem to get around to watching or downloading them online, either. It's never been easier to watch pretty much anything I want, whenever I want, and yet I still manage to miss most of the good stuff. I also have a stubborn streak when it comes to anything that's really popular. I like to think of it as the Harry Potter factor; the more people are talking about something, the less interested I am. Sometimes, as with Harry Potter, it comes from a genuine disinterest and no amount of persuasion is going to change my mind. Other times it's just a stubborn need to not follow the herd, even if it's to my own detriment. At least DVDs are much easier to come by once the hoopla has died down. Most people are happy to lend their copies of shows they've already watched, and even buying them is much cheaper once the initial flurry of interest has passed. That's about the only advantage as far as I can tell. Sure I could take a cursory glance at the things that everyone's talking about now, just in case some of it turns out to be worth paying attention to, but that‘s just not the way I do things. No, it’s much more like me to stay back here behind the times, all on my lonesome, quietly taking note of what everyone’s watching now. Because in five years time I’ll be all over it.

The passing of time, and all of its crimes

Contrary to my expectation that I would be completely traumatised by turning 40, I haven't given it much thought at all until recently. I hated turning 30, and the six months leading up to it where filled with way too much angst and introspection. Up until then I hadn't really cared about my age, although it seems ridiculous now to say I wasn't concerned about my age when I was young. So if turning 30 (which, in retrospect, is of course still very young with lots of potential for an exciting life ahead) was traumatic, then 40 would be devastating. But you know, two months out, not so much. Surely I should be panicking by now? But apart from the occasional fleeting feeling that my youth has passed me by, I'm pretty much indifferent about it.

I think my temperament is much more suited to middle age, I always felt like a bit of a failure at being young. Sadly, my wild and crazy youth was never particularly wild or crazy. I wasn't into clubbing or boozing, and I didn't like parties even then. I travelled the world on nice buses and trains and stayed in hotels and with relatives. I skipped the backpacking and the year of sharing a house with 23 other Australians in London. I do sometimes wish I hadn't been quite so sensible, I'd kind of like to be able to look back fondly on a misspent youth. But when I think of the things I wish I'd done, and remind myself that it's actually not too late for a lot of them, I remember that I never really wanted to do those things in the first place. And some of the things that made me feel like a freak when I was younger aren't such an issue anymore. It seems a lot more acceptable to be single at 40 than at 30, for example. At some point I must have crossed over into "left on the shelf" territory, because elderly relatives, friends of friends and other people who don't know me very well no longer bombard me with questions about potential husbands, which is fine by me! I learned very quickly that trying to explain that I was perfectly happy being single and not overly fussed about the whole marriage and babies thing was not a helpful tactic. They would often either pity me (because clearly I'm only saying that to cover up for my sad and lonely spinsterhood) or become defensive, as if it was some kind of attack on married people everywhere rather than just my own personal preference. It was easier to just accept sympathetic comments and deflect attempted set-ups until I could wrangle my way out of the conversation. Now we just don't have the conversation at all, which is so much nicer.

I'm genuinely hoping for a midlife crisis of some sort. Not a big one, nothing too dramatic or painful, just a little change would be nice. Maybe an urge to change jobs, study, travel or...I don't know, something. Although if I'm not feeling those things now I can't imagine they're going to just hit me suddenly, but you never know. I did consider a tattoo for a while, that seems appropriately midlife crisis-y, but decided pretty quickly that if I was unsure about it then I really shouldn't. I didn't want to do something I'd later regret, which seems appropriate as that's pretty much how I've lived my life until now. Now I can even say I like that about myself, and it's nice to know that some things will never change, no matter how old I am.

No offence, but you'd have to be stupid to read this blog.

Why do people think that saying "no offence" immediately before or after saying something offensive somehow negates the offensiveness of what they're saying? It seems to be treated as some sort of get out of jail free card - you can say whatever you like because you've played the "no offence" card first. And if the recipient is offended then they're just being a bad sport, I guess. It seems to me that it's really just a way to insult people and feel like you're getting away with it. I reckon the rule should be if you feel the need to start a sentence with "No offence, but..." then it's probably safe to assume that you shouldn't be saying it at all. And if you've thought about it enough to preface it with the "no offence" tag, then you have no excuse. I understand speaking without thinking, I do it a lot more than I'd care to admit, but if you know before hand that it's going to be offensive, insulting or hurtful, then you should know not to say it all. Unless of course you actually intend to cause offence, in which case I would say don't make excuses for yourself. Stand proud in your offensiveness instead of cowering behind an insincere "no offence" defence.

There is also a smaller sub-group of people closely related to the "no offence" types, but much worse in my opinion. The "I just have to say what I think" people. Or maybe they're "I'm just being honest" people. Or "I have a right to speak my mind" people. Man, I hate all those people! I've known a few of them in my time, and they never cease to offend and insult as often as possible. It's quite a gift, I reckon. And they have an opinion on everything, whether it affects them or not. They don't like your shirt. Or your haircut. They'll tell you what your "problem" is when you didn't even know you had one. It's like they never grew out of that childhood phase of saying the first thing that comes to mind, and being seemingly oblivious to the hurt they cause along the way. As much as we might say we appreciate honesty, I think most people know when it's appropriate to be completely honest and when it's kinder to keep an opinion to yourself, so it's always a bit of a surprise when you meet those brutally "honest" types who insist on constantly giving their opinion, whether it's appreciated or not. And they continually get away with it because people like me won't call them out on their insults because I don't want to offend them by pointing out that they're being offensive.

Perhaps I'm being too harsh. Maybe these people just lack the ability to filter what comes out of their mouths, so don't get why some things are okay to say and some things aren't. Maybe not everyone is as stupidly introspective as I am, therefore do the majority of their thinking out loud. I'm tired of pretending it's okay to be insulted by people who obviously know they're being insulting, but I also kind of pity their inability to stop themselves being offensive. I'd like to think I'll be brave enough to tell them that next time someone tries to “no offence“ me. I just hope they don't take offence.

The art of small talk

You know that person at a party or event of some sort who's standing in the corner, not making eye contact and looking scared and like they would rather be anywhere else but there? The one you might take pity on and try to strike up a conversation with, only to find that they give you one word answers and seem painfully awkward and possibly a little simple? The one that makes you regret ever attempting to engage them in conversation at all and will make you think twice before ever doing it again? Yeah, that's me. Sorry. It's not that I don't want someone to talk to me, I would love it, and I really do appreciate the effort, it's just that I am incapable of making small talk. I can converse quite easily on a subject that interests me and that I feel confident about, I just can't do awkward chit chat. And it's always awkward with me. It's the talk about nothing much that trips me up, if only we could skip the getting to know you chat and just get down to the important stuff I'd be fine. Music? Of course! Reality television? No problem! Politics? Yes indeed, although I can get a little ranty so I wouldn't inflict that on just anyone.

I feel like there are unspoken rules when it comes to making conversation with strangers, and I'm so fearful of breaking them that I'd rather not take the risk. Oh, I'm sure it's easy when you're a confident conversationalist, but if you're someone like me who has no natural getting-to-know-you skills it's a minefield! I never feel comfortable asking personal questions, how can I know I'm not stepping over some invisible boundary? And I hate being asked questions about myself because I don't feel like I have anything much to say. Occasionally I attempt to pass myself off as enigmatic in the hope that will make me seem more interesting than I am, but the truth is I’m just not particularly interesting at all. So if I can’t ask them about themselves and I can’t talk to them about myself, what else is there? The weather can be covered pretty quickly, and once the stilted conversation about the actual event is out of the way I’m just lost. I also have a tendency to imagine an entire conversation in my head before the poor person even opens their mouth, so by the time they do actually speak I'm already terrified. I don't even want to mention the blushing, stammering and excessive perspiration. Really, who would want to talk to me in that state anyway?

It was my dream to be a witty conversationalist, someone who could charm a room with my fabulously entertaining anecdotes and sparkling personality, but I accept that I'm never going to be that person. That's okay, I'm actually pretty good at the conversation part with people I already know, even if it does take me a ridiculously long time to actually get to know them. And there are advantages to being the wallflower, mainly that after experiencing my non-party personality people rarely invite me to them anymore, which is just the way I like it!

Communicationally incompatible

When did mobile phones become the main source of communication? I pretty much only communicate with my friends via text message these days, and I hate it. I never got the knack of texting, I'm forever pushing buttons one too many times and having to go through all the options again to find the letter I want. I can't even do 'text speak' because I spend more time thinking of what the shortened version should be than I would just typing the out the whole word. And I have a tendency to be overly wordy anyway, so fitting what I really want to say into the tiny number of characters I have for a text is a long and painful process. Others seem to do it so easily, and I always feel pressured to answer quickly, not that I usually see messages right away anyway. I tend to only take the phone out of my bag to use it, otherwise I check it maybe once a day if I remember. I don't carry it around with me at work or at home, so if I'm not in the room when the message comes through it could easily be a day or two before I read it. And it annoys me that text messages apparently give us permission to ignore the normal rules of politeness. I have an almost pathological need to be polite, and having to condense everything I want to say into short, sharp sentences seems so abrupt and impersonal. Last week I sent a long message that ended with a question, and the only reply I got was 'Y'. That was it, one letter. I assume it stood for 'yes' but it could also have meant 'why'. It's hard not to feel a little put out that someone won't even take the time to tap out an entire three letter word, whichever one it is. And even though I've told people that reception at my house is terrible, and I know they have my home and work numbers, most people will still only call on the mobile. Then I have to either run out to the backyard to find that small spot where I get decent reception, or stand on the footpath to take the call. I still feel faintly embarrassed talking on the phone in public anyway, so I'm really not keen to subject the entire street to my inane one-way conversation.

What was wrong with email? Hardly anyone emails me anymore. I can be as wordy as I like in an email, and I can spell check. (I'm obsessed with spell checking! I love that I can automatically spell check everything I write online. It just annoys me that it doesn't correct grammar as well, I'm horrified when I discover I've used an apostrophe where there shouldn't be one or the wrong there/their/they're. And I know 'communicationally' is not a real word, my spell checker told me.) I can use whole words and proper punctuation, and I can be polite and make chit chat in an email. There's no room for polite conversation in a text, no 'how are you', no talk of family or work or what you've been doing. I miss that. Texts are all business and very little friendliness. Email is much more civilised, in my opinion. I know you can send texts as emails and emails as texts these days, but that just seems even more complicated to me. It's hard not to think communication was easier when the only options were mail and telephone. Now it's great to have choices, but it's really just another way to make me feel incompatible with just about everyone else.

Hello, my name is Sandra.

I've never been comfortable with being called Sandy. I've always thought of her as a cute, perky blonde girl, and I am none of those things. Although I have no problem with other people called Sandy. I don't hate the name itself, I just hate it for me. And no one calls me Sandy. No one except for the occasional complete stranger, who's just been introduced to me as Sandra, but assumes they can call me Sandy instead. This leaves me in the uncomfortable position of either putting up with something I hate or having to correct them, which then leaves everyone feeling a little awkward and me sounding boring and formal. I don't know if it's that some people just shorten everyone's name, or if they think that's what my friends must call me so they automatically jump from having just met me to being BFFs. I wouldn't even mind if they asked if they could call me Sandy, but they rarely do. And if I do attempt to politely correct them, which I only really do if I know I'm going to see them again, they often seem vaguely offended by it. I don't understand that, either. Surely I'm the one who gets to choose what I want to be called? Of course when this comes up in conversation and I mention that I don't like it, there's always that one person who thinks it's funny to say 'Oh, don't you like to be called Sandy, Sandy? Why not Sandy? What's wrong Sandy? Don't you like that Sandy?' Hilarious.

I'm not even sure why it bothers me so much. Maybe if I was Sandy as a child it would have stuck, but my cousins had a dog called Sandy so growing up I always thought of it as a dogs name. They actually had the dog before I was born, but my parents are Italian and I don't think it ever occurred to them that the two names were in any way connected, or at least I'd like to think they didn't intentionally name me after a dog! Then there is the Grease factor. A lifetime of people singing 'Oh Sandy baaay-beeeeeee' at me is enough to make me never, ever want to hear the song or the name again. So really, I blame John Travolta.

Procrastinators of the world unite and take over...eventually.

It is very rare that I blow my own trumpet, but I am willing to admit that I am exceptionally good at procrastinating. In fact, I would say I have it down to a fine art. I put off everything. I'm even procrastinating about writing this, I keep wandering off to listen to a song, read a blog, check a website, anything but pay attention to what I'm supposed to be doing. I've always been this way, many a Sunday afternoon was spent writing essays that I'd had weeks to complete but were due the next day, and I still do some of my best work under pressure. I see kids in the library all the time in a panic about assignments that are due tomorrow which they've only just decided to start. I understand them, although I do occasionally attempt a lame lecture about not waiting until the last minute and that's why all the books are out, my heart's not really in it. Of course the internet makes it a lot easier than it was back in my day, procrastinating kids today don't know how good they've got it.

I procrastinate about the same things over and over again. Every year I tell myself I'll get my taxes out of the way early, and every year I'm rushing to get them done in the last week. I never get petrol unless I'm about to run out, which is almost always late in the week when the prices are higher. I pay bills on the last day they're due. I will only restock stuff when it's actually run out, even if it means being inconvenienced by going without. I never bother to put laundry away because by the time I get around to it, it's time to wear it again. To go with it, I hate the thought of being late with anything, so bills never get paid past the due date and taxes are always done by the deadline, I just wait until the last possible minute to do it on time. My favourite thing is when I've put something off so long, it no longer needs doing.  Just think of all the time I've saved not doing stuff that didn't really need to be done after all!

21st century hermit

I have just had a couple of weeks off work and it's disturbing how easily the days went by without me doing very much with them at all. I had planned to do all sorts of things - shopping, movies, visit friends, maybe go to an art gallery or museum - but I did barely anything besides read, surf the net and watch television. I joke about becoming a hermit, but I really am getting dangerously close to it. I blame the internet, it's given me much less reason to leave the house. As well as having the ability to download just about anything and keep in touch with just about anyone, I have also discovered the joy of buying most things online. Apart from being able to find exactly what I want without traipsing from store to store, it works for me because I am far too susceptible to suggestions from smooth talking sales people, who can easily convince me to spend more money than I had planned to or upgrade to a bigger and better whatever. I'm not assertive enough to stand my ground, and I very often come home having spent way more money than I intended on something that wasn't really what I wanted in the first place. The internet saves me from all that, and I am very good at tracking down the best deals, but it also means I have little excuse for a shopping trip anymore. And I find more and more that I just can't be arsed doing anything that takes any sort of effort. I won't go anywhere unless I know I can drive there and park easily. I'm tired of going to mediocre restaurants that require me to spend 20 minutes driving around in circles, only to still park 15 minutes walk away from where I'm going, and having to pay for the privilege. My friends know if they choose restaurants in certain suburbs then they have to be prepared to listen to me bitch and moan for 20 minutes about how hard it was to park when I finally get there. (It's a wonder I have any friends at all really, but they're surprisingly good natured about it.) And I'm glad I travelled a fair bit in my twenties, because it wouldn't happen now. As much as I'd love to see more of the world, all that planning and packing and being away from the comfortable familiarity of home puts me right off the idea. I recently caught myself saying that I can't be bothered going to concerts anymore when they're so expensive and I could just buy a CD for a fraction of the price and listen to it as often as I like - because as well as being a near-hermit, I'm also apparently turning into my parents. 

Is it wrong not to always be glad?

I am not very good at being cheerful. Pessimism comes naturally to me, and it feels wrong not to be worrying about something. Expecting the worst means I’m often pleasantly surprised, even if I have wasted a lot of time and energy worrying unnecessarily. And there’s a certain joy to be had in wallowing in misery from time to time. So many wonderfully sad songs are made for just such occasions, it seems a shame to waste them. I would even go so far as to say I enjoy being melancholy, it feels normal to me, being happy for no good reason just doesn’t feel right. I do suspect this is one of those things that makes me a bit of a freak, but that’s okay.

I try not to inflict my moods on others if I can help it, and I know there are times when I have to just put on a happy face whether I feel it or not. I appreciate a kind word when I’m really feeling down, and being around people who are genuinely happy can be infectious. It’s just that some days I seem to be surrounded by relentlessly cheerful people who feel it’s their mission to cheer me up, whether I need it or not. Maybe I am too stuck in my happily miserable state, but surely it’s not normal to be happy all the time? Sure happiness is great, but pretending to be happy when you’re not doesn’t actually make you happy, does it? I know it’s never worked for me, anyway. I certainly don’t begrudge the optimists, I even admire their ability to always look on the bright side, I just feel more comfortable over here on the dark side. This is just my version of cheerful, and I’m very happy with it.

Definately not excellant spelling

I recently discovered that I have been misspelling excellent, I assume for as long as I've been writing it. I have no idea how I didn't know this sooner, but I'm horrified to think I've been making such a basic spelling mistake! I used to have the same problem with definitely, I would stop and think about the correct spelling every time, knowing it was either -ately or -itely, but for the life of me I couldn't get the right one into my head, and would almost always guess incorrectly. It was The Office that cured me of that particular mistake, now whenever I need to write it I get Finchy in my head saying "defin-ately" and I know that's wrong, because everything that comes out of Finchy's mouth is wrong. I am usually incredibly anal about these things, I'm constantly using Google to check for possible spelling mistakes, and I can't even text in short-hand. I take some comfort in knowing I am not alone in making these simple mistakes, a quick Google search brings up 12, 300, 000 results for "definately" and 11, 200, 000 for "excellant". Now I'm paranoid about what other basic spelling mistakes I've been making, and I don't even want to think about grammar, I barely know a verb from an adjective, I just try to get the words in the right order and hope that it makes sense.

And Now for Something Completely Different

Well, maybe not completely different, but a bit of a departure from the usual ranty blog, anyway. I’ve been feeling a bit inspired lately by the 1000 Awesome Things blog. It’s a nice reminder that while a lot of things suck, there are also a lot of things that don’t. And of course like sucking, everyone’s version of awesome is going to be different. So, even though positivity doesn’t come naturally to me, and I do oddly enjoy writing about my faults and issues, it’s been nice to concentrate on some of the things that make me happy, too:

Autumn. My favourite time of the year; beautiful sunshiny days and cool nights. Yesterday I even got my winter woolies out, which was ridiculously exciting. And it’s wonderfully ironic that while I love the arrival of official hibernating weather, I’m also much more inclined to spend time outdoors in autumn and winter.

Kindred spirits. There’s a particular kind of comfort around those people who just “get” you. The ones who never make you feel judged or criticised. Who’ll patiently listen to you whinge about the most ridiculous things and get worked up right along with you. The ones you might not see for ages, but will fall back into the same comfortable conversations with like you’d spoken to them yesterday. The ones you can laugh with until your stomach aches and you’re genuinely afraid you’re going to wet yourself. The ones you just feel lucky to know at all.

Watching Toy Story with my nephew. Kids know how to really enjoy things, don’t they? It’ doesn’t matter that he’s seen it dozens of times, and it doesn’t matter that he knows the dialogue by heart. He still loves every minute of it. He gets excited and laughs uproariously, and it’s impossible not to love it along with him.

Coming home. Just walking in the door makes me feel safe and comfortable, in a way that I never really feel anywhere else. I’ve only recently learned to appreciate just how lucky I am to have that. No matter what’s happened elsewhere, how crap my day may have been or how bad I might be feeling, coming home always makes me feel better, even if it‘s only because I can finally be miserable in peace.

The internet. I feel like this goes without saying, seeing as this is where we are, but I bloody love the internet! I tried to fight it for a long time, feeling like I was unreasonably addicted and I should be spending my time and money more wisely, but you know what? I don’t care anymore. It’s entertaining, informative and social - particularly since it allows me to socialise without leaving the house. Or changing out of my pyjamas, even. I turn it on first thing in the morning and turn it off last thing at night. Sometimes I don’t even bother to turn it off at all. I barely remember what life was like without it, but it definitely wasn’t as good.

See, now writing that did actually make me feel happier! Although now I’m a little worried that it comes across as even more self-indulgent than usual. Which is also good in an odd sort of way, seeing as too much positivity makes me nervous. Awesome.

The Cynical Optimist

For a long time I considered myself a pessimist, or I guess I really just assumed I was. It seemed to suit my quiet, outwardly miserable and occasionally surly nature. It’s only in the last few years that I’ve come to realise I’m not really a pessimist at all. I rarely expect the worst, and I’m often hopeful of a positive outcome. I think people are basically good, even when they annoy the hell out of me. I don’t know that the glass is necessarily half-full, but I don’t think it’s half-empty, either. It can be either, depending on the situation and the liquid involved; sometimes half is more than enough. I am, however, often accused of being a cynic. Cynical is bad. It’s negative. We like positive. Positive is good. Even if you have to fake it. So I don’t blindly accept things, or people, at face value. I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing, particularly when you consider how many people do believe in “faking it“. Whatever “it” is. Just because I don’t immediately jump on a bandwagon doesn’t mean I don‘t like the bandwagon, it just means I feel that I need proof and personal experience before making a final decision about it. If that makes me a cynic then I’m okay with that. However I do understand that it’s not always much fun to be around, and I try to keep it to a minimum whenever I can. No one likes a killjoy, and it’s no fun to burst someone’s bubble.

Here’s the thing that drives my cynicism, and I know not everyone is going to agree, but I’m going to put it out there anyway: a lot of things suck. They do. Just because we don’t necessarily agree on what sucks and what doesn’t, doesn’t mean there isn’t a lot of sucking going on. It's just that my suck might be someone else’s awesome, and vice-versa. And you know what else? There’s a lot of bullshit out there. A LOT. You only have to spend five minutes on the internet to know that. Unfortunately I do believe that I am burdened with an excellent bullshit meter. I can smell it coming from a mile away. I say unfortunately because I don’t necessarily like that about myself. Sometimes it’s nice just to believe something because it makes you feel good instead of seeing it for what it really is. A little delusion can be lovely. Now, again, just because I think something is bullshit doesn’t mean that I think everyone should agree. I am a big believer in live and let live. Or suck and let suck, if you prefer. I don’t want everyone to think like me or like what I like. I love that we’re different. I appreciate the cheery, happy, non-cynical people (even if I don’t necessarily want to spend too much time around them) as much as I enjoy being around my fellow cynics. We work in harmony and balance each other out. And if that’s not positive and optimistic then I don’t know what is.

Heading in the Right (or Wrong) Direction

I have no sense of direction. This is not just a throw away statement that means I’m not very good at reading maps or something - I genuinely lack a sense of direction. You know what else? I also have trouble telling left from right. That’s right, I’m admitting it. In public. One of those no brainer things that any five year old can master and I struggle with it. I’m not too bad with my own left or right, although I do have to think about it for a second - I just remind myself that the hand I write with is my right. (Oh God, writing it down makes me sound even more stupid than I thought!) I can usually manage that, but I dread people saying things like “move to my right”. Huh? I have trouble telling my own left from right, how am I supposed to figure out someone else’s?! And north, south, east and west are all good and well, but how am I supposed to know which direction is which? Do people actually know this? How do they know? Seriously. It’s a mystery. Don’t talk to me about where the sun sets or rises, this is of no use to me. And when people talk about their “south (or possibly north?) facing” windows I just nod and smile and pretend to understand what that means, but I don’t. I really, really don’t. Oh, and when I’m talking about somewhere and I point outside, I’m just making a general “out there” kind of gesture, there‘s no reason to correct me and point to me to wherever it really is because it means nothing to me. Also, I don’t care.

I have to admit it is kind of embarrassing when I go somewhere new and I have to ask someone to direct me back home again. Most people seem to think this should be easy, surely you just go back the way you came? Yeah, maybe it should be easy, but not for me. This is mostly a problem while driving, and I do tend to get lost a lot. I always panic, too. I become irrational and I think I’m never going to find my way there - or home, even. The lack of control is frightening. Of course I do always eventually find my way to places and back again, it just may take a lot longer than necessary. If I need to be somewhere important I’ll often go on a reconnaissance mission beforehand to familiarise myself with the journey. Although getting somewhere once is absolutely no guarantee I’m going to be able to find my way there again, but it’s better than doing the trip blind. I think this is also why I often volunteer to drive when I go out with friends - if I’m driving, someone else has to navigate, which is perfect. If someone else drives and I have to navigate, not so perfect. I have managed to get other people as lost as I get myself, which is quite an achievement, I think. And don’t even get me started on shopping centre car parks. It’s great that they have numbers and letters and colours for people like me, but apparently they only work when you remember to look at them before going inside. Several people have suggested getting a Sat Nav (for general driving, not shopping centre car parks), which I‘m really not that keen on. Normally I love gadgets, but they’ve always seemed like a very expensive street directory to me. However I am starting to think it might be a good idea. I do need all the help I can get, and maybe I could even arrive somewhere new without feeling angry, frustrated and teary. That would be nice.

How Can a Loser Ever Win?

Is it odd that I’ve always considered myself a loser? As long as I can remember, even as a child, I’ve never thought of myself as being good at something or expected to be in any way successful. It’s not as if I was ever told that I wasn’t good enough, my parents were perfectly loving and supportive, and even some teachers seemed to think I did okay, but it’s as if I've always carried around an innate feeling of uselessness that’s not based on anything in particular. I suppose it also ties in with my almost complete lack of confidence, but I think I’m getting better at that. Or at least I’m getting better at not feeling bad about lacking confidence, if not getting better at actually being confident. But I’ve only recently started to notice that while I wear my insecurities on my sleeve, sometimes others hide theirs behind bravado and false confidence. When I started an online writing course recently we had to introduce ourselves to our virtual classmates. I was surprised to discover that just about everyone else wanted to be an actual novelist, as well as already being highly accomplished in other areas. Some said they had books already written, others had entire series’ planned out. Whereas I just wanted to have a bit of fun and maybe learn something along the way. Naturally this display of confidence made me even more self-conscious about my own abilities. It wasn’t until we had posted our first assignment (which, much to my horror, is done publicly so we can read each others submissions) that I realised that some of that confidence was misplaced. It made me feel much better, both about my own abilities and my lack of confidence. It’s not because I liked seeing others do badly, it’s just that it reminded me that being confident and being capable aren’t necessarily the same thing. I’m very open about my lack of ability, in case anyone might think I was capable of something when I’m not, so I‘ve always assumed those who were incessantly confident actually felt that way. It was quite nice to discover that I share common ground with some of those overly confident people that seem so different to me.

I guess it really just comes down to how we like to be seen by others. I assume it's very important to some people that they be seen as confident and capable. Others might want to be seen as intelligent. Or attractive. Or funny. Or authoritative. Me? I like to be nice. Now I realise that some people reading this who have actually met me might suggest that I don’t always succeed at that, and I don't, but it's what I'd like people to think of me nonetheless. Nice and kind. It's what's important to me, and it's what I value in others. (Although it just occurred to me as I wrote that I'm not even confident in my niceness!) Probably the oddest thing is that I really don't mind being thought of as a loser, and surely it's all relative? One person's loser is another person's awesome. Or something. Either way it's fine with me, and confidence is overrated anyway. At least that's what I think, although I'm probably wrong.

Built for Comfort

The new year annoys me. Not just this year, every new year annoys me. So do birthdays, for that matter. Or any occasion that incites me to examine my life and wonder what the hell I’ve done with it. Every year I say I won’t make resolutions, and I don’t, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking about what I should change and what I’d like to achieve during the year. Which I guess makes them actual resolutions, even if I don’t like to call them that. I’ve been thinking for a while that I’m kind of stuck in a rut. It’s a rut of my own making, admittedly, but I feel like I need to leave my comfort zone more often. It’s probably ridiculous to say I like my comfort zone, of course everyone likes theirs, that’s the point. Comfort is so very nice, and I try to avoid discomfort of all kinds as much as possible. However I do think I need to be uncomfortable occasionally, if only to appreciate how lovely my comfort zone really is. So my obsessive over-thinking brought on by the arrival of a new year has led me to conclude that I need to force myself out of the zone more often, even if only in tiny little ways. My real problem is that I’m too cautious and sensible. I’m not thrilled by danger or fear. I don’t like scary movies and I’m not particularly keen on rollercoasters. I like things that are safe and familiar which, while nice and comfortable, can also be a bit dull and dreary. I’m also not entirely sure what form this discomfort will take. So far the scariest thing I’ve done is enrol in a creative writing course. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, but have put it off every time the opportunity arose. While I had many excuses, ultimately fear was the biggest one. What if I suck at it? What if I can’t keep up? What if I don’t like it and it becomes a chore rather than a joy?  But then, so what if those things do happen? Hardly the end of the world, is it? And I would like to find out if I’m any good at it, no harm done if I’m not. Now I just have to read To Kill a Mockingbird in the next two weeks before the course begins, which is sending me right into expert procrastination mode. It’s not even that I don’t want to read it, I read it at school and liked it then, and I know it’s a great book, it’s just that there’s a deadline so I must put it off as long as possible. That’s the expert procrastination rule. So far it’s been sitting on my desk at work for five days. I’ll bring it home this week and possibly even make a half-hearted attempt to read it over the weekend, but I know I’ll be reading the bulk of it the day before the course starts. I have learned not to fight my procrastinating ways because it only leads to guilt, and makes no difference to the task at hand anyway. So this year I will be looking for more ways to force myself to be ever so slightly uncomfortable. Open myself up to new experiences. Take risks. Be bold. Say yes more. Other self-help clichés that I can‘t think of right now. All within reason, of course. I’m not going to start going to parties or join a gym, but I might strike up a conversation with a stranger or go for a walk occasionally. Actually, I might need to work up to the conversation now that I think about it. Maybe next year.