‘I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t becoming slightly alarmed by how much material I have for this series, but it is what it is. These are even more of the things I can’t quite get my head around...’
Being Desperate For A Pee But Not Going
I will NEVER understand why I do this to myself. I regularly go to the bathroom when I arrive at the office in the morning and attempt to do something to my face that makes me look within the accepted margins of human but, after doing that, even if I’m dying to pee, I go back to my desk because I’m worried people will think I’ve been in there too long.
The result of this is that I have to go back a short while later and hate myself for not having just got it out of the way in the first place. I drink a LOT of water in the evenings (flavoured, fizzy stuff because I’m not a monster) and will regularly not be able to sleep for needing to pee, but will simply lie there, arguing with myself about the merits of moving versus sleeping. And so I lie…awake. I can be completely uncomfortable in a restaurant or Cafe and point-blank refuse to use the bathroom.
I used to blame this on my anxiety (you know, using unfamiliar bathrooms and finding your way around strange places…) but, as I’m just as bad at home, the excuse doesn’t really hold water. Pun intended.
Turning Music Down In The Car When I’m Lost or Anxious
The music in my car is always at HOLYSHITMYEARS level, regardless of the time of day. I’m usually in the car on my own, so it doesn’t really impact on anyone’s hearing but mine. I’ve also been driving for 20 odd years and feel that I might have a grip on what I’m doing behind the wheel (although I know my sisters don’t agree…).
Despite my love of loud country music and my driving experience, I cannot find a street or the last few miles of a destination without having to turn my music down or completely off. I also don’t start my music in the morning until I clear the dodgy blind spot at the top of the farm road I live on. Once I pass that, it’s all go.
I currently have a rental car and found myself putting music off at a set of temporary traffic lights yesterday as I got stuck in the queue on a hill. Clearly, I don’t feel able to keep control of an unfamiliar car AND listen to music at the same time, so I had to down my version of Pink Sunglasses until I the light turned green and I made my way to the safety of a flat road.
Complaining About My Weight While Eating Crisps
I know I’m not alone in this, but it never fails to amuse me. I will try clothes on and be horrified at the fat pie in front of the mirror and then put quickly change into my jammas, lounge in my rocking chair and stuff my chops with fizzy fangs in an attempt to block it out. I also have a bad habit of working out at the gym and then coming home, ravenous, deciding that I have almost certainly worked off enough calories to merit that entire family-sized bag of Doritos.
I fully understand that all I’m doing is eating the calories I’ve lost and staying the same weight, but I have so many excuses, you wouldn’t believe it. I spend my entire life arguing with myself. And the slightly larger woman always wins out.
Thinking I’ll Remember Passwords
I am the woman who takes a week off and then can’t even log back into her PC at work. This is how short an attention span I have. I have honestly lost count of how many times I’ve had to ask Barclays for a new passcode (5 days in the post each time), or called HSBC because my bank account is more secure than Fort Knox and I simply can’t recall whether the name of my first school was initially written as ‘Deans’ or ‘DeansPrimary’. Please stop asking me to make up passwords that are hard for people to hack, because these are also hard for me to hack.
In the past few months, I have reset my Royal Mail account at work 4 times because I always think I’ll remember the password. By the time I come to use it again, I never can. To make my life a little easier, I make as many passwords as I can exactly the same, but there’s always one site that point-blank refuses to let me have it.
THEN I have to come up with some bizarre twist with an extra symbol or number that I’m completely incapable of recalling at a later date. And don’t get me to write them down because I do that in code and then have no idea what the code refers to.
I am, in all honestly, bloody useless at remembering anything. I have 3 Airbnb accounts, 3 with Amazon and 2 with Ryanair – and that’s just off the top of my head. Imagine my recent horror when I logged into Ryanair to check my upcoming trip only to see that I didn’t have anything booked because I accessed the wrong account. I’d like to think, one day, I’ll sort it all out, but chances are I’ll still be sitting here in 2030 trying to remember the name of my first pet.
Keeping Things ‘For Good’
I do this with a LOT of stuff. Mainly, it’s shoes and bags, but it also extends to clothes, candles, makeup, and toiletries. I have more than 100 pairs of shoes, which include Blahniks, Louboutins, Choos, and Vivienne Westwoods. These all sit in their dust bags, in the safety of their boxes, waiting for me to go ‘someplace nice’. I am part hermit. I don’t go ‘someplace nice’. Like, ever. I stay at home. And I don’t need shoes there.
I have a poorly managed addiction to buying candles. My rules are generally that they must either smell of fruit, or go with my colour scheme at home. I have SO many, but I can’t cope with lighting the ‘good’ ones. By that I mean anything I bought from Yankee Candle, or somewhere similarly expensive.
My lovely Welsh bestie bought me a gorgeous candle for Christmas and it’s still sat on top of the fireplace, waiting to be used. I know she didn’t it buy it for the sole purpose of me looking at it, so why am I?
I have a wardrobe full of beautiful dresses that I have never worn because I feel like I don’t have somewhere to wear them to. Which is even more odd, because I don’t like going out anyway. Why do I keep buying them? The same goes for my expensive makeup. I even get a Birchbox every month and all the stuff just sits in it. Why do I insist on keeping stuff for all the parties and other social events I avoid like the plague?
I swear if I get hit by a bus tomorrow and my family has to clean out my house, they’re going to have a shit ton of brand new stuff to contend with. I keep promising myself I’ll start using it and then don’t.
After writing this, however, I’m even more determined than usual to start using stuff. Should you spot a short, blonde woman in Porthmadog high street with red-soled shoes and a 50s dress, smelling of expensive perfume and done up to the nines on a Friday morning in Tesco; don’t panic, it’s just me.