Here’s the story of a birthday, change, and an angelic bacon sandwich.
Some people would say that it was awfully cruel of me not to wake up mum and dad after they slept in due to the clocks going forward in the UK this week. Others would say that I got my comeuppance because, later that day, my glass Coca-Cola bottle full of marbles that has been sitting on my windowsill for over a decade somehow came flying off said windowsill and shattered into a million pieces, many of which lodged themselves in various parts of my body. Some would say that it was an act of God teaching me the error of my ways, whereas others would say that I got the aerial wire I had wrapped around it caught on my cup of tea thus causing it to be yanked to the floor. I certainly prefer the act of God theory, however, as it does make me appear less of a ninnyhammer…
I did wake them up in the end, I was just struggling to work out when to wake them up. You see, it takes me a good hour and a half to get ready in the morning, whereas mum is rather adept at rolling out of bed and straight into church. Hence my act of God theory. It was Sunday, after all. We all had a good chuckle when the Monsignor that morning said, “I hope you all remembered to change your clocks last night. And for those who didn’t, well, we’ll find out when they stroll in at 11…”
I’ve said it all along, I blame the farmers. I mean, really, why don’t they build farms in one of those giant plastic domes they’re planning to build on Mars to grow food for our future astro-hunks? At least that way they won’t be reliant anymore on the Sun and let’s face it, it won’t be around forever. One day we’ll have to leave the Earth and jet off into the Milky Way in search of a new home, one we almost certainly will have to populate with Earth plants that won’t be used to the alien Sun and soil, so let’s start prepping them for the future now and, you know, if we get to keep our hour instead of losing it, then it’s win-win. I reckon it’ll take plants five billion years to get used to it, by which point, we’ll be on our way to Earth II. That or we just stop changing the clocks, whichever is easiest.
Bloody farmers. I reckon we should have a five-day public holiday after the clocks change, because I’M STILL NOT USED TO IT! The amount of times I’ve fallen asleep on the bus is ludicrous. I mean, sure, on the way home from work, there’s nothing wrong with that, it proves to the other passengers that you’ve had a long and productive day at work. ‘Aww, that little trooper is so tired after a long day contributing to our economy.’ What? Not me, others, obviously. I do very little. At least this week. I’m really struggling to stay awake. But falling asleep going to work? That’s not good. And I did go to bed nice and early on Sunday night, before you ask. Half one. In the afternoon or morning? Erm…
It’s been a tough week, readers. I’m still on my work experience and the chance of getting a job out of it is growing slimmer by the day. They just don’t have the money to take me on, unfortunately. Which is a shame, because this is the happiest I’ve felt in my entire life. Never mind, eh? It’s been a great eight months. I’m still working there, in case you’re wondering, because they said they want me to stay on. We moved this week into a new office with the intention of taking on a lot more work, so you never know, if I stay there long enough they might start earning enough money to pay me. I think I did a grand job this week folding 500 leaflets by hand. It only took me three hours and dyed both my hands a rich shade of blue, meaning I did start to resemble a Smurf, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
To be honest, I wouldn’t hire me. I’ve really struggled this week. I’m not able to adapt to change and adjustments to new ways of life. If you know a shy person like me, you’ll know just how much we loathe change and find it incredibly difficult to function afterwards. I’ve had to change the bus I get, the time I get up, the route to work, where all the new things are at work, the new routines, taking on a much greater role, and I’ve really not done that well. If the boss was considering taking me on, I’ll be very lucky if he still feels that way. I’ve tried my best and it’s not good enough. The one thing I was good at, as well. It’s like being a champion sneezer and one day your nose falls off. That’s exactly how I feel right about now.
Just about everything that can go wrong has gone wrong, plus some things I never anticipated therefore didn’t have any expectations about those things. I get this feeling, even though nobody has come out and said it, that I’m not in anyone’s good books. I don’t know if you’ve ever worked in a place where you felt really out of your depth, and you get this feeling that your colleagues are being nice to you for the sake of being nice and actually really aren’t happy with you at all. I hope it doesn’t end on a sour note. This really has been the best eight months of my life. So if I’m sounding a touch depressed and if I’m bumming you out, I can’t help it. Even my mum has asked me several times this week if I’m feeling okay and said she was worried about how quiet and distant I’ve been. Hmm. I didn’t notice, but women always seem to. She liked her Mother’s Day gift, in case you’re wondering. She even liked all the thousands of little stars I put in her card and the fact I wrapped up her chocolates in Christmas paper because it’s the only wrapping paper I have…
This week this blog turned six years old. Six years I’ve been doing this. I’ve only missed 15 posts. Usually down to illness or holidays or the fact I had no ideas, which, admittedly, appears to be the case most weeks. It should be a happy time. I should have a job, I am nearly 27, and I should be saving to get out of mum and dad’s hair. Actually, dad doesn’t have any. He has a lot on his top lip. I should be saving to get out of dad’s moustache hair. Doesn’t work as well, does it? Hmm… I’ll get back to you.
Have I done anything in those six years? Have I changed at all? It sure doesn’t feel like I have. And it’s not for a lack of trying. There is literally nothing left on the list of things I could do that I haven’t done. And I got this fantastic work experience and I shouted, “YES! There is a God!”, but now… now I’m not so sure. I’ve tried my absolute hardest to the best of my ability, which, sure, isn’t particularly fabulous, and it hasn’t been good enough. I really have been robbed of a normal life, haven’t I? All I can do is get up and go to ‘work’ and hope somebody up there is watching down on me and once, just this once, gives me a little miracle. I don’t ask for much, but can I have that? Oh, and a bacon sandwich. Love one of those right about now…
I don’t do self-referential stuff very often, but the one light shining brighter than any other over the last six years has been you. I know this blog isn’t great. I do it because I enjoy writing and if someone wants to read it, go ahead. I didn’t think I’d still be doing this after six years, but here I am, and I still get likes off readers who liked my first ever post, six years ago. You, especially, are wonderful, sure, but also…. a bit mad. I’m really not so interesting to have held anyone’s attention for six years. It’s a small readership, incredibly small, with few likes and few follows. So why am I still here?
I have no friends. I’ve never had a social life. I’ve never have ‘normal’ life. But when you suffer from social anxiety, you feel like the loneliest person in the world. That you are completely worthless and of no value to anyone. 10,000 hits this blog has had and every single one you who has come here feels like, to me, the best friend I could have. Because you’re listening to me, even though it’s utter drivel. Six years ago I felt like the loneliest person in the world. Not anymore. As cheesy as it sounds, just one hit a week really does feel like a hug. It might be a crappy little blog in a crappy little corner of the internet, with stats that don’t sound that impressive to the biggest of bloggers, but honestly, I really don’t care about the stats. You have made an incredible difference to my life, and for that, I’d like to thank you. And for those who were there at the start and might still be around for my 12th birthday… seriously, I mean… I’m really not that interesting.
As I said at the end of my first post six years ago: ‘So here I am. Week in, week out, updating you on the general nothingness of my life… I don’t know if anyone will ever read this, but it would be nice to have a friend, even if they are just on the internet.’ Quite. There’s still not much happening, really.
But you can be rest assured that as long I’m still breathing, I’ll still be updating you on the general nothingness of my life. As long as I’m still breathing, of course. I mean, I’m amazed I’ve made it to 26 with all the accidents that befall me.
Heck, I’ll be amazed if I make it to 27 in July…
English poet, playwright and actor, William Shakespeare (1564-1616), once wrote: ‘With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.’
Peace Out :|:
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