Happy Birthday to me…

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.

~ Jinx

Moving In – Part 2 of ? (Procrastination and Awkward Induced Anxiety)

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 :

If you’re 16 or 17 and homeless, you’ll usually be provided with accommodation by Children’s Services at your local council.

www.gov.uk

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.

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