Okay, the question mark in the title has a purpose. I called it Shoe Shop, but it seems my pre-teen brain turned on ADHD mode and went on a rambling tangent in this story. At the time, the school was not giving us lined paper, so I would naturally write in an ark, but then try to correct myself. Creating this weird situation where the end of a sentence would be where the previous sentence started. It’s the only way I can explain it, because I cannot be arsed taking a photo of this right now. If someone asks, I’ll show them.
Currently, trying to decipher this as I type this.
“When me and my Mum went to the shop, I dont know what shop it is but I got used to the shop. Sometimes I got bored I just got out my book but I had no pens. I was sad. Then the shoes had one flower on each one. I tried them on. They were perfect. Then we put the shoes in a box and then we went into the car. Then we went home.”
No fucking clue.
I believe this is earlier than the previous one. I have cleaned up the writing a little for ease of reading. This bullshit got me a little certificate, which I proceeded to doodle on for the remainder of the day. No teacher feedback this time, I may have got star writer, but the standards were probably pretty low if that shit got me a gold star and a pat on the head.
It was also still a point where the teacher had me writing the… I’m not sure what definitive name to call it. The “Who, What, Where, Why & When”, by literally writing all those words in a list, then beside them, writing the “answer”.
This one was not fictional writing, I actually somewhat remember this, or can imagine it well enough in my head from fragmented memories. Pretty sure the store was a Clarks. I hated shopping in general, but hated it ever so much more when it was my mum trying to get me to wear things she wanted me to wear. As I stated, I’d much rather be drawing.
The shoes in question were those pre-croc looking girls-shoes for school. With tiny little holes on the top, where those flower pins had been stuck through, looking like Lelly Kelly knock offs. Pretty sure those flowers were pink, of course they’d be pink.
Now that I think about it, the only thing I liked about being in the shoe shop was: The boy’s shoes, running up and down the huge lane between the isles, getting the staff to measure my feet, and the smell of the shoe shop. Actually looking at shoes I’m supposed to be looking at? Ick.
Yea, this one isn’t as good today. But yeeee. Happy Thursday.
For those of you that know me, most of you will not know when my birthday is. You may have an inkling, but asides from that, you won’t know the date or probably even the rough week that it is. Those of you will this lack of knowledge will, however, have knowledge of why there’s this tiny, tiny, insignificant space in your brain’s spreadsheet of birthdays. I severely dislike birthdays.
Birthdays are a celebration of your age, up until a certain point in your life you’re edging that “one year older, I need to be older” until you hit that limit, but you keep getting older regardless.
Mum says I won’t know these things ’til I’m older, I need to get older.
I can’t get on this super fun looking ride at the fair, when I get older I get taller, I need to get older.
I don’t have enough money, and my parents won’t buy me this. I need to get older, so I can get a job.
I need to get older, so I’m legally allowed to have sex, learn to drive, get married or buy my own pet.
I need to be older, so I can buy my own alcohol, own my own property and leave home without parental consent, vote, get tattoos…
Everything that we want out of life is goal orientated towards getting older, it gamifies the system. That integral part of ageing is akin to levelling up and the only thing you need to do is sit back, keep your hands inside the boat and just stay afloat. But after that, there’s nothing else. Levelling up in a game that boasts no benefits to the player for doing so. Some players have friendships and clan members who recognise this occasion and give what they can out of their already limited inventory to “celebrate”, moreso this is just more things that you don’t need or things that will be consumed quickly. Even worse if it’s an event consumable that is useless until after the event is finished, specifically celebratory greetings cards. These either clog inventory, or get thrown out or destroyed, serving no purpose other than to be thrown away.
Maybe it’s just me, but it’s useless. Most I know treat it this same way, and once they realise the futility of it, the celebratory nature evolves into one of them drowning their sorrows in alcohol, pretending that it’s the night of their lives. “It wasn’t a fun night, unless you don’t remember what happened. That’s how you know it was fun.”
Playing a game that you’re already tired of, which has no benefit as you’ve already reaped the best awards, those awards now meaningless as most only further your degradation into debt or emotional debt. Like any other Online MMO, essentially.
This is also where the other side of things slow down too. If you’re using your birthday to celebrate your life and accomplishments, what have you even done within the past year to celebrate? To some, living is enough, and they would be right, honestly. The trivial pursuit of life itself is worth the celebration, but do they dignify themselves with those same standards?
This sort of line of thinking that reminds me of that ADHDinos comic. Or at least I’m sure it’s that comic.
Are you celebrating your birthday? No, I did fuck all this year and thus have nothing to celebrate. My birthday is coming up soon, and I did fuck all too, so I shouldn’t celebrate mine either? NO! You did lots this year! Even if you think it was shit or not a lot, you kept yourself alive blah blah blah… Double standards everywhere.
It even comes down to the point that I’ve literally bought a house and, despite cutting it super fucking close, I’m going to have moved in before my birthday. I have about 3 weeks to do so, but y’know, almost there. I still want nothing to do will celebrating my life, my brain makes every excuse under the sun to deny my own celebrations, and when it can’t find a “good reason”, yuck, celebrating my birthday? How self-centred.
Celebrating someone else’s birthday, on the other hand? LET’S FUCKING GO. What do you like? What do you like to eat? Where do you like to go? What do you like to play? What do you play it on? Do you use Amazon? Would you use a gift card if I gave you one? I sent a box of chocolates to your address. I bought a redeemable code for Hogwarts University for you, and you can’t just tell me to use it because I don’t have a PlayStation/ I already have the game. And I can’t refund it. I know you wanted these things because despite what I say about forgetting everything that anyone ever says, when it comes to someone wanting something, I somehow can materialise an extensive library of what everyone I love wants that not even I knew of until this precise moment, then will systematically forget about it until someone else’s birthday. I made a reservation at your favourite restaurant, and don’t worry, I know you’ll probably be busy on the day, that’s why I’m ready to change the reservation date at a moment’s notice.
Honestly, once again, double standards start to show, but this time I have an ace up my sleeve.
Is it because I’m unhappy? Is it because I have ADHD? Is it because I’ve had a mentally and emotionally traumatising childhood? Or is it because I’m just a miserable bastard?
I like to believe that it’s all of the above.
I genuinely hate it when anyone decides to celebrate my birthday. — The focus is on me, ew. — Someone is trying to take my wants/needs into account when I’m not used to that, ew. — Someone who is usually never taking my wants/needs into account when they should is feigning responsibility and pretending they care for a day, so they can keep an emotional hold on me using guilt, ew. — People I don’t know that well know my birthday, ew. — People that I don’t want to inconvenience in any way, fret and pressure themselves to get me something for my birthday, mega ew.
Yeah, there’s just so much and I want none of it. So many people hate being reminded of their birthday because after a certain point age becomes insulting in a way. “Happy 30 Birthday!” It is one that makes people lose their shit.
Birthdays are for me, what Christmas is for kids who’ve just been told Santa isn’t real.
Do I require money? Yes, I do. Do I like “things”? Yes I do. But it gives me nothing when it’s from someone else. The best form of gifts are the ones you give, not the ones that are received. Awkward concept if everyone is like me, but they’re not. There are people who love gifts and people who like gifts, you figure out who those people are, and you give gifts to them. The people who do not like receiving gifts? Don’t give them gifts. Actually, idea. Wait a month or two, and invite them out to lunch and pay for it. They’ll still dislike that, but they’ll dislike it a lot less than being given a gift. Or, if you really, REALLY, want to give them a gift, there are two options. Give them either the gift of advice/help or the gift of food. Ask them if there’s anything they need help with; laundry, decorating, finding a specific brand of snacks that are out of stock in their local store, helping them understand what the heck solicitors are saying when they’re moving house, sign up to that stupid phone game they play and use the referral code. That helps our small, simple minds out a lot. And in regard to food, go with them on their grocery trip, pay for a few things, or ask them what they usually buy and when they buy it. Things that last a long time go well, tinned goods, microwave rice. Nothing that is expensive or that they’ll know is expensive.
Basically, treat them like your little end-of-the-world, doom-hoarder buddy, stocking the pantry of their bomb shelter.
By the time this posts I’ll be days away or days past being 25, and honestly, I consider this “halfway” through my life. Currently listening to Pokémon Diamond, Pearl & Platinum – Champion Cynthia Battle Music, is this the appropriate time to consolidate on how far I’ve come?
I honestly don’t intend on living past 50, so shouldn’t this space of my life be where I take off? Or should that have been the previous 25 years?
It matters now, it won’t matter in a few hours once I’ve forgotten. I’ll continue to live life playing frogger on the many trains of thought running through my mind at once.
Everything has really picked up within the last 2 years. I’ve gone from living comfortably with emotional and mental abuse at home, with a LDR girlfriend who would not only empower me to fight against it (building me up), to gaslight me over her substance abuse and my mental illness (to tear me down). I’ve been through a lot for me, if anyone else was in my position, I don’t doubt they would’ve handled it a lot better than me. So many people with “just do this” and “I would personally…”. I honestly don’t doubt that everything everyone says is as easy as they say it is but, my green on button to make my brain do things requires a virgin sacrifice, and it’s hard to find those these days.
From the breakup I started branching out, dating and breaking, dating and breaking kinda turned me into something else. I’m very broken, but in this weird broken state I’m able to do a lot more than what I could before. 1 break up and I could date someone else, 2 break-ups, and I was okay travelling hours by myself to meet people. 3 and I gained a lot more confidence with people and discovered peculiar personality traits about myself.
I started looking for a flat, then I stopped, then I started again, viewed one, didn’t get it, stopped. Started looking again, viewed a bunch and managed to purchase one.
My habits concerning doing and experiencing new things all have a pattern. I’m extremely malleable, but to stretch I need to be put to my current limit then left to rest, I return to resting form. The next time I’m put to my limit, the limit is further than previous, kinda like fitness.
Regardless of me, I can’t help but think that other people’s help and other people’s moral support helps me a lot more than I help myself. (Because peer pressure only affects me when it’s guilt induced, therefore I only get stuff done that way because I don’t want people to be disappointed in me.)
I’ve helped a lot of people in the past, financially, emotionally, physically, but I brush it off and forget about it because it doesn’t matter. It’s my time and I, personally, am a waste of time, so it works out at a net gain if I actually help. But when others help me it means so much to me, because you’re wasting your time, helping A waste of time, basically doubling your time wasted. And as much as you’re fucking stupid for helping me, I love you lots and will never forget it.
To those who’ve helped emotionally.
To those who’re there for me.
To those who’re just there and they don’t even really know they’re helping because it’s honestly just their company that keeps me sane.
Thank you.
If you’ve read this far, this post was not done with a clear intention or goal, it was just a rant post. Legacy posts are still happening every Sunday (I almost fell behind, oops.) and new posts will come soon. Thanks again.
On the 14th of December, I got really sick with what I initially thought was the flu. I had shivering, fever-like symptoms. Aching and general fatigue. I had to take the next day off of work. I had 3 regular days off after that, so my timely sick day turned it into a 4 day “holiday” where I managed to recover… or so I thought. Starting around the end of December I started getting what I thought was a cold, it may well still be. One of those ones, complete with all the phlegm in the lungs. Boom, New Year’s Day and those same symptoms came back from the 14th, added on top of whatever cold that I had. Bedridden for most of this, my phlegm bucket (yes I needed that, there was SO MUCH of it) turned into my puke bucket as I was coughing so much I’d throw up. Then, it switched up, I lost my appetite, my abdomen started swelling, and I started throwing up regardless. Now bloated, throwing up from nausea and coughing, cant breathe because of phlegm, can’t breathe through nose, fever-like symptoms, skin sore to touch, aching and general fatigue.
I have Glandular Fever. Nice. I literally had to get blood tests done to find that out. They stole like 15ml of my blood. Me being me, however: “Will this amount of blood being taken make me woozy?” “Can I see the vials?” “Is blood always that dark?” “Should it have all those bubbles?” “I’ve never had this done, does it go in the spinny things?”
I also am getting another blood test done soon, yay. Hopefully it’s just a checkup to see if I still have the G-Fever. And I also have an appointment for an ultrasound too! Maybe they’ll my motivation on the scan and give it back to me.
Right… Reading back the last blog post to see if anything happened between then and when I got sick. Hmmmmmm….. Okay, so I have the Fridge/Freezer. It’s a fucking American one, so of course, it naturally doesn’t fit in the fridge space by about an inch? That’s a DIY project going to happen soon. I still don’t have a washing machine, but that’s the next thing on my list for when I’m no longer physically fucked. I think… the boiler pipes may have cracked, however I’m not sure as I don’t know how to work the damn thing. It may just be that because I wasn’t using it, it was being stubborn.
The last time I went to my flat, I had a little red leaflet on top of the oven outside my flat saying “Move this within 72 hours, or we will remove it!” They were 24 late, and it was still there, so… I moved it into my flat anyway. That and my cubby outside my flat…. I don’t know if I’ve forgotten how to open it, or I’ve lost the key for the padlock, or the same people who saw the oven replaced the lock because they saw I’d been working on it and thought it was someone tampering with it. I am not sure.
The desk is still looking a bit shitty with the strips, but I also got kinda angry at just “life” and started just spraying my gold spray paint everywhere randomly, and it looks pretty cool now, just need to fix the strips.
I also now have a clock, I’m not sure if I mentioned my Pokémon calendar, I have another lamp and I now have one of those generic as fuck, black, glass TV tables. Everything I listed (apart from the calendar) is from my manager. These were extra things from his flat that his previous flatmate left behind. Pretty cool.
I now also have internet. Tempted to call it “Greggs Sex Dungeon” or some stupid shit like that. Just means I don’t need to fuck around with mobile data at the house now.
Oh, and my electricity meter isn’t working with either of my keys… And I’ve not been able to call them up about it because I’ve been away from the flat, and I’ve been sick as all fuck.
March 22nd.
I called my WiFi “I-Can-Smell-Greggs-From-Here” and one customer came up to the counter asking from the password because it had the word Greggs in it. He argued that because it had the word Greggs, it must be the Greggs WiFi. One of my co-workers (BR) went bright fucking red having to answer this, because she knew it was my WiFi.
April 18th.
Today I’ll post this blog.
Promise.
I am teetering on the edge of moving completely. It’s actually getting harder and harder to go “home” now, as I’m just so comfortable in my own space. I’ve just got a washing machines in the last few days and one of me Co-worker’s (DK) husband is coming over to make sure I’ve installed it correctly as he’s some kinda handyman joiner person.
Sleeping on and off in my flat, around 2–3 days out of 7, I’m feeling a lot more at peace. And honestly, I still don’t see the fuss about having your own house being difficult. Hell, I’m still spending stupid money on Pokémon cards, gifts for friends and eating out. I am still occasionally taking train journeys to Glasgow and beyond!
Things are changing a bit, however, I’ve noticed that I’m losing weight at a very slow pace. Trousers specifically showing. Falling down as I walk. Yet the ones on the size smaller are still too tight. I suppose I’ll get there eventually. More people are being hired at my work, so there are fewer hours up for grabs, and I’m limited to my contracted hours. However, I am at a stage where if I asked for more work, anyone would take me. There are 4 Greggs in my area, and that increases to about 6 or 8 when you increase the scope of travel. They always have extra hours going and sometimes not everyone wants to work more, so they go to waste. That’s where I come in.
As of relationships, which I’ve not spoke much of here, I’ve been in and out of them. Making discoveries about myself that I’m not too best pleased with. Reflecting on past relationships and questioning whether I really was “in love” with any of them. I think this however reflects weirdly with my ADHD. Falling hard and fast with my intense emotions, but when relationships are over I find it hard to think about them as “If it’s not in front of me, I can’t see it.”. Should I question my love for my exes if I can’t remember if I did due to my mental differences?
My electricity is fixed. Honestly, I don’t know when that part was that I mentioned, about it not working, but it’s working now. It took months for them to fix it. Even worse that it was during those weeks it suddenly went back to freezing temperatures. (There’s a problem with my gas now, but shhhh.) I’m still yet to receive the compensation due, but I’ll wait a bit before we unleash the Karen, y’know?
I’m so close to streaming again, too. I feel the need and the want to pick it back up. I feel myself getting ready for it. Not only that, but I can’t help the feeling I’m going to have to change my 4pm rule. My work REALLY wants to promote me. Essentially guaranteeing me a promotion by 2024, whether the position is actually available or not. Knowing that being a Senior Team member mostly consists of working from 05:30 to 3pm, or 1:30pm to 9pm, means I’m going to be working long shifts most of the time. If I get the short end of the straw, some weeks I’ll have only a small amount of streams. But, that might be enough.
Anyway, my stupid brain can’t think of anything else significant, and I should really get this blog out. The next time I post, I should’ve fully moved as honestly, I only have shoes left to move. I’ll be posting my letter to my parents here too, because that’s always a fun read.
Here we are, 13 days from when I posted my last blog about moving in, and what have I done since then? Sweet fuck all. Why? Fuck knows.
So we’ll start with the scheduled things. I got my shelving unit delivered on the 9th. That was one of the few deliveries that was on time out of the three. Two, quite skinny and lanky, men struggled to lift the shelving unit up to my flat, up the two flights of stairs. I held the door on both counts, the bottom one to get into the complex and my personal door. Apart from that, my offer to help otherwise was declined. I felt like a massive dweeb, pain in the arse… Apparently one of the dudes wasn’t getting paid? I don’t know. I don’t know why I even brought it up, probably something to do with the fact they had to carry this huge piece of IKEA furniture up two flights of stairs.
So from there, all the little bundles of tat, or “tack”/“tak” as my co-worker (BR) calls it, that were in piles around the flat (neat piles thank-you!) are now all comfy comfy in the shelf. Is it organised? Partially. What’s the other half doing? Shoved on there haphazardly as I just wanted it off the floor so that everyone could do the dinosaur.
So yeah! That’s 9/11 out of the way, thankfully avoided any disasters.
Big pause between the 9th and the 15th. I spent most of my time, between then and… then…, looking for “things”. I know what I need, I just have been putting off getting it, and I don’t know why. Some sort of mental block going on. I believe that’s when another co-worker of mine (DK) mentioned to me about SCS having a sale and the whole 4 years no APR pay monthly thing… Sorry DK, I did look. I still have the tab on my browser open with the couch in my basket. I almost paid for it, but I keep getting cold feet.
So yeah, that keeps happening. I keep getting cold feet about buying specific things. Some things, I can look back on it and sort of pretend I know the reason and nod my head, “Hmm, yeah, I see why you’re being a pussy.” because let’s face it. I can’t drive, and I need to ask people to hire a van to move things (if I’m not ordering it from a company), and the whole MySchedule and ThierSchedule and the SellerSchedule needing to ALL LINE UP. Not only that, but I already had trouble with seller’s schedules conflicting with mine, let alone a third person. I keep seeing fridge/freezers on Facebook Marketplace and other heavy-yet-important-to-home-living items, and I just feel so damn awkward asking for help. So do I procrastinate? Yes, but out of how awkward I feel, I do it on semi-purpose.
Also, it would fucking help if sellers replied to me. That’s another thing putting me off. I’ve come to 17 dead ends with non-repliers when trying to source major appliances. Fucking talk to me, you morons, or take the thing off the marketplace, god-damn it.
Then! Out of nowhere… Depressive cycle. The joys.
So, 15/11 is the day in which I was to “receive” two things. Paint Smart Meter.
I paid extra money to get DHL to deliver the paint to me between 8am and 12pm. This is because the person coming to install the smart meter was to be at the flat between 12pm and 4pm.
….
Not only do I HATE multiple things happening in the one day, I hate it more when they happen at the same time. Especially when it includes multiple people scheduled to be at my place. I don’t want them meeting each other! It’s weird. They make it weird. I make it weird. Everyone gives each other weird looks, and I can’t stand the awkward exchange!
Anyway, so the paint doesn’t come. It’s 13:45, 1 hour and 45 minutes into the time the smart meter guy is supposed to get here. I see the… Seimens… van pull into the car park. He sits in the van for about 15 minutes. Cool. So after 1 hour of him being there, fiddling with things, electric box screeching twice driving me a little loopy, he comes through and tells me that the box that he’s been sent out with, that’s registered to my address, isn’t working and that I have to reschedule. He fit a new box in, so now I also have to phone to get a voucher for the money I lost with him reinstalling another box.
Okay.
So he’s still there, fitting this new box, I received an email from DHL.
“Your Wilko parcel has been delayed by 24hrs.” What. The Fuck.
You bet your arse, I went immediately and made a case about being refunded the difference between a standard delivery charge and the price I paid to have it delivered SPECIFICALLY within those times on that day. I had waited the entire 4 hours between 8am and 12pm at the flat, because I know what it’s like. It says it’s not being delivered yet, but you cross the street to Greggs to get your fucking bacon and omelette roll and look at your phone, it’s already tried to be delivered and being sent back to the fucking depot. I also needed to get scissors. I got really pissy I couldn’t go and buy scissors, because I was hyperfixating on painting something and I really needed scissors. That and I asked my BFF/co-worker (AH) if they required me to pick up her painkillers beforehand, expecting to at least have 30 min between delivery and smart meter. The amount of anticipation fuelled rage…
Smart meter guy is finished putting shit back, and there’s a knock on my door at 2pm. IT’S THE FUCKING PAINT. I’M SO FUCKING DONE.
Smart meter guy’s getting finished up and taking his stuff back to his van, I have my jacket on as I’m about to rush to boots to get the meds and here’s the delivery guy. WHEN I’M JUST ABOUT TO LEAVE. I ALMOST MISSED IT, FOR NO REASON. And, it would be my fault, wouldn’t it?
Later that day I’m with my BFF (AH), I have her painkillers, and we’ve had our walk and our complain while walking the dog. You know, usual friend stuff. I’m doing my usual, seeing her in the door, and she asks me if I want chairs.
Yes? Chairs? What kind of chairs?
Turns out one of her ground-floor neighbours are moving to a bigger flat, which is essentially just down the road, and they’re getting rid of some of their things. Outside their door are some basic white chairs, whether they’re dining chairs or not, I’m not sure. There’s no padding, they’re just wooden round chairs. Haven’t taken a picture yet, but I’ll add it here when I do. They’ve been there for a bit before. I would’ve taken them sooner if it wasn’t for the last time I almost took them, being some football game day. I would’ve felt really awkward and weird walking past at least 75+ people crowding the pavement and street I need to walk down, to head to my flat, awkwardly carrying two white chairs.
(All above text was done while, I think, slightly drunk. I don’t drink, and I tried someone’s pink smoothie tequila shot, and I can see I rambled and ranted a lot. I am going through a stressful time right now, not because of moving, so I guess it took the edge off a bit.)
Did I mention that this entire time, I’m actually off work? I have a fake rota set up in my family house so that I won’t be disturbed while doing my thing. As my family like to completely take over my days off. I’m actively pretending to go to work, to go to my flat and work on things.
So I fucked up my days, and went back to my parents when I’d scheduled the next day to be a 5.30am start. Usually, I’d stay at my flat so that I didn’t actually have to get up. This time, however, I had to wake up at 4am, “get ready”, and “walk to work”. It was about 5:10 by the time I got there, and I just went to my flat and went back to sleep. It gave me the worst headache as I’d already walked the 10-min walk in the cold 5am air, so I was pretty awake, forcing myself to sleep is never good, but it was needed. The cover for me staying at the flat is that I’m staying at my bffriend’s (AH) house, and she’s essentially kidnapping me for a night, so I don’t have to pay the bus fare back home.
22/11
I bought a knife block. No knives. Needed a paint, painted it. The painting of the desk is almost finished, just the small bits left to go, and having to leave them to dry again for 14-16 hours. I never thought it would be so exhausting waiting. The black and gold strips I tried to do didn’t turn out as well as I wanted them, apparently it would’ve been better if I’d used frog tape? But I had no idea that existed until I was looking for more masking tape.
The room I’m painting purple isn’t going as well as planned. After ordering more paint, of the same brand, make and number, and name… it’s a different colour. Looking it up online, I discover that because new paint has more water in it, it’s a lighter colour? Fucking bollocks. Having to repaint the room, at least it’ll take fewer coats. THAT, and I’ve also discovered that what I thought was a nasty pink paint job was actually an excellent nasty-pink wallpaper job. I found this out after coming out of ADHD autopilot after having picked at a bubble in the wall…
I’m procrastinating on getting a fridge freezer and a washing machine after the guys had such difficulty getting the shelving unit all the way up to my flat. I know that’s what they’re hired to do, but I’m a little mentally stuck because I feel bad. The woman next door was getting rid of her cooker, I’m not sure if she’s cleaned it yet because I’m basically never in the flat. She said I could have it once she cleaned it, but I’m not sure if I’ll ever know when that is.
The little cupboard space in the close outside my flat, I’m planning on putting a keypad lock on it so that when I get packages delivered, they can pop them in there. I’ve taken off all the handle and things, but left the little lock hatch on because of “where I live”. Meaning that you can kind of expect any open door you have to be occupied by someone it doesn’t belong to if you leave it open. Sheds, cubbies… Anything that’s big enough to sleep in with a door on it.
I’ve also forgotten how to turn on the heating. I feel like an idiot. I do however have my electric blanket, so I’m not exactly freezing in bed… the entire time…
I got stopped at Wilkos because I was buying cutlery. Kitchen knives, but you know those table-knives, not actually for dicing and cutting things. I need to be over 25 to buy them. I’m bloody 24 and I’ve bought my first house. Just reading up on it there, at 16, despite being able to fuck and marry, you’re still considered a child in the UK (based on what I briefly skimmed on the search results blurb) so if you’re homeless from 16 -17 :
That or both guardians need to sign the lease or whatever? But from 18, that’s you, on your lonesome. Are you supposed to get other people to buy you knives to eat with and cook and prepare food with for 7 years until you’re old enough? Despite being old enough to buy a house?
I still got my knives. I’m proabably not going to use them until I’m 25 right enough at the rate I’m moving, but come on. And, because of the way I am, the woman was like “Are you over 25?” I obviously respond, “No, I’m 24.” and start to get my wallet out to get my provisional driver’s licence. She asks me again if I’m over 25 with more of a say yes vibe, I say no again because I’m not lying about that shit. I got ignored and greenlit on the knives. Okay, whatever. Greatful for the knives but damn, just say “then you cant have them.” and do the job right lmao.
These past few weeks have been weirdly taxing, and I’ve done fuck all.
I expect this series to be longer than the trilogy I did about my move.
So I’ve bought my house, now what? I got the keys and everything is mine, and I don’t really know what to do with myself. The first time I got in, I wandered around then lay in the centre of my unfurnished living room for a good 30 minutes just… existing.
The house’s previous owners showed me how to work everything, which I’ve immediately forgotten, except from the one thing that rarely happens that they taught me how to fix. Funny how I seem to only remember the difficult things. I’ve got a gas card and an electricity key. I’ve got two sets of house keys and 1 key for the downstairs door to the block. A small key to the cupboard outside my flat that has been used as storage, but I will probably use it to dry clothes or something.
And that’s it.
Okay, so that’s not entirely it. One of the customers from my work brought in a spare kettle and a toaster. I have never used a toaster, and it’s crumby as all hell, there’s already a shit ton of crumbs over my worktop now, so I’ll have to find a workaround for that.
And yeah. First day of “moving in” and I have a kettle and a toaster, (that I don’t even really know if they work) fun.
Day two and I’m using time to my advantage. It’s probably not long before my parents figure out that I’ve bought a flat, so I need to use the element of surprise to attack. Hah.
So I have this big reusable bag from The Works, thank you The Works, that isn’t see-through at all AND it zips up. So on this second day, this pishing wet second day, I packed as many boxes as I could carry and zipped the fucker up. No peaking on the inside, no wet on the inside. My mum now thinks I’ve given my co-worker one of my Xboxes.
Carrying that sucker was another thing. It’s not a far walk, but I’m used to carrying everything on my back or doing the “I’M NOT MAKING MORE THAN ONE TRIP FROM THE CAR TO THE HOUSE, SO IM GOING TO CARRY EVERYTHING AT ONCE!” grocery haul.
Dumped all the boxes out and left my bag to dry on the installed jacket rack by the door and went to work… 1 hour and 30 minutes too early. Shit. I could’ve unpacked them.
Baring in mind that all my boxes are full of tat. Books, pens, pencils, DS games, coins, cables… Yeah, I don’t have a lot of useful things to take with me. The only “big things” I’ll be moving from my room will be my TV and my PC. I’ll be moving my old PC tower as well as I’d like to get back into building PCs, and I can at least make a relatively shitty one from spare parts I get.
A couple of boxes down, a few more to go… Then clothes and big things.
24/10
My first ever Facebook Marketplace buy was a tiny little Super Mario Mushroom lamp…
Yep…
I don’t regret it at all.
Biiig time jump. Well maybe not big, but it’s 03/11, 3rd of November for the people who put the date incorrectly…
I currently have a fully functional bed via Facebook Marketplace, and one of my co-workers (AH) knew them and greenlit the purchase. Amazing.
Went into Wilkos for the duvet, duvet sheets, pillow sheets and the pillows. No disappointment there. Except the fact they never have the tester pots of paint I want, but have the full canister, but when they have the tester pots and I buy them, and they’re the right one, I come back and there’s none of the big pots. Fuck sake. I now have one wall fully painted purple, 3 walls with a half coat, a tiny tub of “Lemon Pop” to test and see if it’s the rubber duck yellow I want.
A lot more of my things are now at the flat, I transported my first bag of clothes today that only really consisted of 6-ish items. My rucksack is great at carrying objects, but gets full after 6 clothing items, because they’re all kinda puffy, you know?
I’m getting a smart meter put in on the 15th of November for free, and I’m getting a bookcase/display shelve unit thing delivered on the 9th that I’d reserved earlier. Still not got a microwave or an oven or a sofa or a washing machine… but we’ll get there. I just keep getting distracted by shiny objects such as TRIO BINS!!! FOR SPLITTING YOUR RECYCLING. And MATCHING MAGAZINE HOLDERS! And STORM CLOUD PREDICTOR!!! Yeah, I need to fucking settle down. ADHD man, the “SQUIRREL!” thing is slightly incorrect. It’s more of a magpie vs shiny things and priorities.
Update on the kettle and toaster, well no, just the kettle, I don’t actually have use for a toaster. The kettle works, albeit it’s fucking slow to boil 1 cup worth of water.
I now have an uninstalled 50-inch TV from one of my co-workers (DK). Their old TV mind you, I have no idea what they’re upgrading to but the fact they gave me that for free is mind-boggling. Hoisting that up my 2 flights of stairs was fun, as was hauling the double bed mattress.
Assembling my bed was probably one of the best, and funniest moments so far, and it’s probably one I’ll remember for a bit too long. One of my co-workers (BR) came over and sat down and helped me build it. 5 minutes in, and she’d already smacked herself in the head by essentially headbutting a piece I’d been holding up with my foot/knee for the entire time. I learned so many new swear words that day and that I should really keep an eye on such a clumsy person like that, making MY bed. She does claim to be “the best” however, at almost everything, I just remind her that she’s Bob the Builder as Bob is short for her full name and she has a toolbox. I did however have to say “hello” to my downstairs neighbours again, just to remind them that I’m not an English bitch that swears so much she’d make a sailor blush. Not THIS sailor, however! I blush at EVERYTHING!
I’ve slept in the house… maybe like 4 times now. It’s starting to feel like mine. I don’t know if a lot of people get this kind of imposter syndrome, but I started really noticing it while I was with my last girlfriend. I can’t sleep in someone else’s house, in someone else’s bed. I just can’t. I mean, I can when I pass out obviously, but I can’t go to sleep comfortably, and I’m constantly on edge during that too, the slightest noise will wake me. It was the first experience in my flat when I slept in my new bed for the first time, (also because the mattress isn’t as sturdy as the one at my parent’s and I just sank, and it was weird.) and it was the same when I slept in my ex-girlfriend’s bed with her and when I slept in my co-worker’s bed when I was looking after her flat and cats while she was on holiday. It’s just odd. But I seem to have got over it, and honestly, I’m preferring this a lot more. Except the stupidly over-soft mattress. I’ll change that when I can be bothered.
But yeah, it’s honestly looking great. I’ve just got my council tax letter, and it’s all looking like I’ll have all the bills in check soon.
The people who said I wouldn’t be able to handle this were so wrong… It’s actually weird how wrong they were.
The proposed settlement date was on the 14th of October 2022. And we’ve missed that mark. Not because of me, and not because of the seller, the solicitor or anything to do with the whole purchase itself. God-damn postal strike.
And hey, I know we gotta strike. I understand the striking. I’ve only ever worked in a food-place, so while I’ve not been under the immense pressure of service-style jobs, and key workers experience as a whole. I’m maybe one or two tiers above that. I’ve more than dipped my toes in that steaming bathtub, but I haven’t got down to the point where you have to brace yourself as you’re about to lower your sack/coochie into the boiling water, but I can imagine it.
But UGH. Now, someone who, as a type of key-worker, has to wait until these “Saturday and Sunday Aren’t Working Days” people to deal with my stuff… which will be Monday. For anyone that knows me, I do have quite a few bones to pick with weekend people, but moreso for the fact that the entire business is shut down for 2 days of the week. Maybe it’s just because I’m used to jobs being a 7-day service, but it’s super niggly. I’ve worked in a Fish & Chip shop, Caravan Park cleaning vans and again at the same caravan park pouring pints. Now, working at Greggs it’s the same thing (not complaining about Greggs). People have got their days off, and it’s been whichever, and someone else was working that day instead to continue service. It’s probably the autism talking, but that makes 100% sense to me, regardless of the business being run. I’m struggling to try to think what business wouldn’t work on a Saturday or Sunday.
But yeah, this is just a big complaint about fucking “business days”, like fuck your business days, every day is a business day if I’m working. This week, I had Tuesday and Sunday off. Next week it’s Thursday and probably Sunday again. The week after, god knows, probably 2 “weekdays” off. I’m just irritated and whining that I can’t get my house sooner.
I’m easily irritated when I’m excited for something.
So.
Closing Statement here. £6,666.06. I immediately thought of my friend and how she would, “Fuck no. Fuck buying that house. That’s a fucking sign.”, and drop it. Brandishing my “devil’s number” and my declaration of “I definitely do not own a house and have never bought property before, please believe me”, I hand it in to my solicitor. Promptly following getting home I receive an email of where to put the rest of my dosh and boom. I’ve gone from 13k in the bank to 2k. And believe me, spending money has never been scarier.
I’ve spent a lot of money before, but never this much. I’ve given a lot of money before (more than I’ve ever spent on myself at any one time, because helping others in need is so much more important.) and even then… it’s still scary. I’m going to have to be paying money for the rest of my time to pay off the house, house insurance, life insurance, council tax, gas bills, electricity, Wi-Fi… food. This is such a massive jump and I just took the leap of faith like I’m on the Red Bull diving championships.
My settlement closes on this Friday (21/10/2022), and I couldn’t be any more excited or freaked out. I’m keeping this post until I get the keys or something else happens. I want to split off the after-purchase blog for the next part. Makes it a lot neater in my brain.
And so this is it!
Friday the 21st of October 2022, I am officially a house owner and a did a lil stweam to show you guys not only the flat, but my mind-state. I’m fucked.
The settlement was on the Friday, and then I was just told, “Yeah, they have your keys, you arrange with them when you want to take the keys from them and yeah…” That was kinda “Oh fuck…” My mortgage advisors have been chasing me for my key-date for ages, and it’s just… now? Cool…
But yeah, I got in and lay in the middle of the living room floor for a bit. Got up and streamed and painted a huge patch of yellow on a pink wall. I’m going back to do it again because it didn’t really do much, and I really want to incorporate yellow and purple in my office space. But yeah. Yeah…
This is fucking huge and I have no idea what I’m doing. Fun. But I’m happy. So much happier.
Come a couple of days after my first post, I received my mortgage offer and mortgage info package from the provider that my advisor got into contact with. Furthering the depth of how much I’ve been thrown into this largely insane and intense worry about this bog-standard thing that people apparently do once every 23 years? Mind you… Coming to that whole, “once every 23 years” thing, I’m technically only 1 year behind being 24. Not bad.
The day after, I’ve received my solicitor’s email asking for when I wish to settle the transaction.
Uhhhh… Soon? ASAP? Now? In a week? I don’t know… When do you think is best? I legitimately have absolutely no clue on a good when for this. So instead of answering or not answering, I ask some side questions about what things I would need to do, and if I should have spare time set aside to do it. My man knows my game and suggests a date while also letting me know what needs to be done. He knows the game.
So, here we are, with a settlement date and just kinda waiting for things to fall into place.
3rd of October, I received a few more documents concerning what I’ll actually be buying. Layout of the flat and the ground surrounding it. What’s mine and what’s equally my responsibility as much as every other neighbour. The solicitor’s checks and stuff.
I have my co-workers arguing with me over whether they’ll be buying me Christmas decorations as house-warming gifts, and my unfiltered, reflex response was “You better fucking not.” As much as the idea of people buying me furniture/furnishings for my flat greatly embarrasses me and completely feels uncomfortably out of the norm, I’m trying to get them to communicate with each other. There is no reason for me to have 5 kettles, but if they don’t know what each other is getting, then that’s what’s going to happen.
“I am a man… with 5 ovens!!”
More documents and guess what, these are signing documents!!
Declaration of Occupancy and the big nasty agreement that if I fall behind on mortgage payments, then the bank gets to repossess my flat. Nasty.
For these documents, you need a witness to sign as well after watching you sign them. It’s recommended that it’s not a close family member, someone who’s going to be living with you or someone you’re close to. So, the manager at your job is probably a good bet. Getting those signed and also having a read over the qualified acceptance to make sure there’s nothing I don’t understand… which realistically, who is even sure they ever fully understand these legal jargons apart from lawyers… All I need to do now is close my Help To Buy ISA, get the closing statement and hand it over to the solicitor, along with the other things I signed and that should be it!
At this point, I am also going to be making a pilgrimage to every charity shop that stocks furniture and: 1. Asking if I can reserve furniture, and if so, how long is it reserved for. 2. If I purchase furniture, how long can they hold it for. As if it’s big items, I may need a hand getting it to my flat. 3. General prices and items held at that shop. I’ve noticed that each shop is a little different. I’m uncertain if this is down to limits on things they can accept, standards on what they can accept, or just the customers they tend to get. There are a lot of charity shops where I live, but most only have clothing and knick-knacks. So, I, personally, would assume, if I didn’t know any better, that any furniture I have would either have to be dumped or sold second-hand as there’s no “furniture charity shop”. I could possibly stop people at the dump and try to commandeer their stuff. However, it’s a long walk out from where I’m situated, and our local dump requires you to reserve allocated time spots to dump… so… no one really goes any more.
And an update from previous post about having a bed, that is no longer the case. It’s been a while since I was offered it, and they couldn’t hold onto it for that long. That and I’m pretty sure it was just a single bed, but I was never told, and that’s not what I’m looking for anyway. I do, however, possibly have a toaster and a microwave. But that was from a rapid word of mouth from someone who is not really around all that often any more, so I’m not putting all my eggs in that basket.
The plan is, fridge-freezer, washing machine, bed. Couch (fold down double bed), Chair (fold down single), Kettle, Microwave.
Note: This is not a guide, but a partial sequence of a full event that I’m currently in the middle of.
I’m currently in the middle of purchasing property for the first time in my life. Now as of writing this I’m 24 years old, and 6 years over the “You’re an adult now, we’re going to boot you out the nest.” threshold. As of the late teens of the 2000s, I started investing in a Help To Buy ISA. It something that I was completely unaware of until maybe about a week or two before the whole opportunity to get one was closed off to the public, and not that long off being ineligible to start one due to my age at the time. It was something that was very “detached” to me, as money (showing a weird privilege here) has always been something I’ve been really detached with. But with that lack of bond with money, also comes with a lack of experience in spending it because I never did, and never do spend on myself. Also, solidifying a lack of experience in transactions and business type things, is also a key contributor to my lack of self-confidence, a lack of experience in life.
I started my first-ever house hunt over a sudden, heavy need for my own space. This need has always been there for me, but it was always fleeting. I was always too “happy” to hold the negative emotion, or it was always too convenient to stay where I was. Things in my parental household would anger me, sadden and disappoint me. My privacy would feel extremely violated, and I would feel as far as to say, I did not feel safe in my own home.
I have a partial diagnosis of both ADHD and ASD, going as far as to having the verbal diagnosis of a therapist, but nothing in secure writing. My verbal diagnosis was on the cusp of February 2020, by which would’ve been officially recognised later if it weren’t for COVID-19 almost putting a halt to all physical contact everywhere. So to say that these sporadic and intense urges to move were connected to my mental disability, you’d be onto something there. This time, however, it’s different. I don’t honestly know what’s fuelling my move. Like a combination of all the small and big things all at once, finally coming together to repair the broken glass. I’m still doing it, I’m still on that train of thought, and I’ve not fallen off for months.
So at first, I was looking at property right across from my work. A second floor flat, 2 bedrooms with a balcony. Situated on the edge of a shitty area, but a colleague of mine (who is a local) informed me that that block is a decent block, and I’ll have decent neighbours. I went to view the flat and accidentally scared the real estate agent, as I arrived 10 minutes early and caught her coming out of her car.
So to say that these sporadic and intense urges to move were connected to my mental disability, you’d be onto something there. This time, however, it’s different. I don’t honestly know what’s fuelling my move. Like a combination of all the small and big things all at once, finally coming together to repair the broken glass. I’m still doing it, I’m still on that train of thought, and I’ve not fallen off for months. People keep asking me, “So how was the flat?” “Did you like it?” “What’s it like?” Empty. This bitch empty, yeet. I am a first-time buyer, I do not have a lot of money to set on a deposit, and I’m buying in a beach-side town. Most property in this area used to be rentals, and they’re all being sold because of new.
The first property I looked at was “great”, and by great I mean there was nothing inherently wrong with the place. And it was a 2-minute walk from work, or 1 minute if you try to traffic dodge. After a lot of anxiety and faffing around without any confidence whatsoever, I may or may not have hired the first local solicitor I saw and asked them to put an offer on the property. The bid was unsuccessful, and my bid was 4th from the highest, followed by several others who’d ranked below mine. It was a busy bloody property, with a shit ton of interest. When going for that property, I listened to the wrong people. A co-worker of mine told me that I was bidding too high initially, as I was close to the market value of the property. And a friend of mine outright said that I was not ready for a move whatsoever, no even ready to buy my own flat. With this confidence blowing measures, I regressed a bit and pulled back, losing me the property. I, however, saw this as an opportunity to build up my tolerance.
I started to view property that I couldn’t afford, picking up some more of the stupid language that’s used specifically for it. Learning the questions to ask estate agents when in the property. I viewed things “way” out of my budget, but keeping realistic with the style that I’d kinda be looking at. Then, it came up. Literally 1 property above the one I’d looked at first. I saw it as a sign, and requested a viewing as soon as I saw it pop up.
I went in, and it was dated, and empty. The walls were all painted nice, but unconventional colours, also nice. The dated aspect never bothered me as my things, such as furniture, will be all second-hand anyway. No major damage or anything concerning, nothing needing fixed and nothing worrying. 2 minutes from my work and all it requires is appliances and a bed. Boom, it’s calling for me, I want it. I took it. I grabbed that opportunity by the fucking throat. Not only that, but I made an offer within 24 hours of viewing (as it was the one above the first one, it would be popular as it was cheaper than other flats), market value plus a little extra to give me an edge. Within that hour, my unofficial offer was accepted.
Now comes the hard part.
Phone calls and endless emails, document gathering, passports, driving licence, prove you have that much, prove you can pay it off per month. The mortgage advisor contacting me every hour to ask for more and more stuff every time. One email she sent me had an opener that had me fucking buckled, though.
To see “Please don’t kill me…” pop up on my email notifications was already funny enough, but from someone I’d consider to “act more professionally” than to use language or a phrase like that was hilarious.
I’m currently now in the process of probably the last few legal documents being exchanged between the mortgage advisor hub and the mortgage lender themselves. (After having to physically go to the bank and get them to print something out, a waste of paper in my opinion). From then, once I’m accepted from the mortgage, I’m pretty sure it’s all about getting the solicitor and the advisor to talk to each other. Then closing down my ISA, getting another statement (ugh, more in-person printing), then putting the money where I’m told to.
Direct debt for the mortgage should be easy enough, but… Whew…
It’s a lot, but I was ready for this, and I’m glad I’ve done it. I’m getting so much support for doing it and so many people want to help. There were one or two people who were very adamant I didn’t do this, but honestly, if they were right, then I’d already be fucked mentally right now.
Right now, I feel very on top of things, and it’s been a long fucking time coming.
On getting the house, I’ll post a follow-up, and will be livestreaming my “Keys Day”. Call me Commander Keys because I’m going down with the ship.
jinxlgamez
Doubtful Player 