Musings of a week free from social networking

Why hello! Long time no see! Thought I'd revive this blog beast with some insight into an experiment of mine.  I decided to go offline for a week, not using social networking sites or my phone. It was an eye opening, time expanding, stressful, enjoyable time. Here are some of my musings from the week:

Day One

8:30am Feel a bit weird. Automatically tried to go online and as my housemate has changed my password, I was denied access. DENIED. Felt very naughty.  It’s a little freaky how I go on it almost unconsciously first thing in a morning.

4:30pm Annoyed because I can see I have learnt to rely on my phone. I don’t know where this shop is and I can’t look it up. I think I’m going to have to ask an actual human being. Hmph.

Day Two

7:30am My housemate had to knock on my door to wake me up, as I’ve given her my phone and its my alarm clock. Actually felt much calmer getting ready for work. Normally I check my phone and emails several times, as if something vitally important had happened in the two minutes I’d been brushing my teeth. But I felt much more relaxed not constantly looking at the time.

4:30pm Feel like I have free time really. Tinkled on the piano for a bit. It was nice but a bit odd. I guess I spend more time online than I realised.

Day Three

6:45am   I woke up naturally and went downstairs, feeling spritely. My housemate pauses in eating his cereal and looks at me in alarm. “Why are you up at 6:45?!”  Why WAS I up at 6:45?! I guess because I didn’t know the time so didn’t lie in. But weirdly I felt much more awake and lively for it. I even did my pilates DVD before work. I find I’m focussing more on each individual activity rather than thinking ahead to the next one. Perhaps it helps because I’m saving time not being on my phone/online.

4pm I was a lot more productive writing creatively this evening. I still need a break after working for a while, but because I couldn’t get sucked into facebook for half an hour and lose my motivation, I ended up going for a walk and getting some fresh air then coming back and working more. I guess I work much better with a change of scene every hour or so instead of staying on the laptop.

Day Four

6pm The dark day. I went to my friend’s house. When I arrived I realised I didn’t know which floor her flat was on, or indeed, which number. I didn’t have my phone to ring her. I was already 20 minutes late and she was cooking me dinner. Crap. I paced each floor like a crazy woman, knocking on the occasional door and sheepishly asking strangers if they knew of a Christina in this building. No-one did. I went up every floor to floor EIGHTEEN, at which point, sweating and drained, I reluctantly admitted defeat, drove home, got my phone, rang Christina, got her flat number and drove back, at this point an hour and a half later than originally planned. Thankfully she saw the funny side.

Day Five

10am My sister came to visit and we explored Leeds. Then we drove to visit mum and dads. To be honest I wasn’t noticing the lack of communication at this point, as I usually leave my phone/laptop off when I visit mum and dad so I can completely relax. Maybe the reason I don’t feel relaxed at home is because I use t’internet in a bit of an OCD way.  I feel like I have to reply to all messages IMMEDIATELY. There is some validity in this, as I have the brain of a sponge and so if I don’t reply I am likely to forget for a good few weeks, leaving my friends feeling a little disgruntled. (love that word.) But I think perhaps it is a bit much to reply to everything right away, especially when you are really busy. Maybe it would be better to set aside half an hour every day to reply to emails and messages, and not keep going on it throughout the day.

Day Six

10am Went for a walk on the beach with parents, sister and the dog, perfect start to the day. I’m looking forwards to catching up with friends online tomorrow, which is a good feeling. I don’t normally allow myself time to look forward to checking it. In fact, if I’m being completely honest, when I’m really busy it can feel like a chore. But I’m excited to message my friends and organise plans for the week.

Day Seven

Back online! I did feel a little intimidated by long threads at first, having to wade through and figure out the gist of plans with friends. But overall it made me smile seeing thoughtful messages from friends, and grateful I have such lovely people in my life.

Overall thoughts

Social networking can be a positive way to share and keep in touch with friends, find out about opportunities, see fun links and be inspired. I think, like anything in life (except laughter and kindness), it needs to be done in moderation, and not excessively or dependently. I think people shouldn’t feel nervous at the prospect of not being connected to the internet for one day of the week. Everyone needs a day to just be. And perhaps if we learn how to be alone for a bit, we will then appreciate the connection of friends online all the more. Also, where possible, don’t look at the time. If you are absorbed and relaxed, you don’t need to know it. Your body will tell you if you are hungry/tired. You don’t need to know the time, all the time J. And if you want a deeper analysis than that, you’ll have to catch my upcoming play, “Plenty of Fish” (SHAMELESS PLUG ALERT)

Thanks for reading! If you have any opinions, thoughts or suggestions, send them my way, I’d love to hear them. 

The Art of Mexting

Hello peoples.

Hope everyone is dandy as dandelions today. I am aware I have not provided you with some light comical relief at my expense recently. I can only apologize, and grovel with this brand new shiny post of snippety goodness.

Have you ever tried 'mexting'? It is a new phrase I have just coined, because I'm brilliant like that. 'Mexting' means moving while texting, and whilst some people seem to be able to achieve this multi-tasking challenge with grace and skill, surprisingly, I am not one of these people.

I mext quite frequently, which isn't a good idea, but based on the amount of blogs I have written about my life choices and abilities, it is clear that I don't/choose not to catch on fast. Whilst mexting I do tend to slow down inadvertently, and occasionally find myself cruising into the direction of another human being and mumbling my apologies, but usually it is no worse than this. Usually.

On this particular fateful day, I was mexting away. I was also walking fast as I was late for meeting someone, its not an excuse for what happened, but do bear it in mind when you scoff at my silliness. So I was hot footing it down this road, mexting and mistening (moving whilst listening to an mp3/iPod if you're more fancy than me). This essentially means that my vision, (texting) hearing (mp3) and judgement (mental problems) were impaired. Not ideal. Suddenly, I felt a sharp scratching sensation across my face.

Argh!!

 I lifted my hands in horror, unsure what was going on, getting my fingers tangled into my mp3 wires in the process and ripping the music out of my ear in a most unpleasant fashion. Whilst trying to twist my way out of the wire web I had created, failing and flailing, I managed to crane my head to see what had attacked me unawares. It was a petruding branch with thorns on it that was the culprit. (Honestly, keep those hedgerows clear from the paths people!) But this was not the end of the tale. Oh no.

Dazed, confused and still trying to de-tangle myself from my own device, I stumbled out into the road. At this moment a large van, merely metres away from me at the time, came screeching to a halt and began honking indignantly. Oops. Embarrassed and stunned by the drama of the last 30 seconds, I continued to saunter across the road like a confused pheasant. This unfortunately gave me the opportunity to lip read what the lorry driver was saying in response to my little slip into the road. It wasn't pretty.

The saddest thing is, I really can't remember who I was texting, or if I even sent the text with all that kerfuffle going down. So, if anyone hasn't received a reply to a text they sent me and is feeling a bit miffed, you should know I suffered thorny brambles and was almost squished by an oncoming vehicle whilst trying to contact you. Perhaps you could be more polite and email next time.

The Involuntary Giggles


Hello, sorry its been a while folks. I was washing my hair.

So it occurs to me that, through this blog, I am starting to get a bit of a reputation for being a ditz. What, I hear you cry? Squid, the very essence of elegance and grace is getting a clumsy reputation? Why, how? Well I'll tell you. Recently I was staying with a big group of friends at the Edinbrugh Fringe, and we were playing a game in which you point to the person you think most likely fits the question. I got a pretty much unanimous vote for "Who is most likely to wall paper themselves to a wall whilst decorating" and "Who is most likely to throw themselves down a bowling alley instead of the ball". I feel I should set the record straight. My life is not so disastrous, and to prove it, here is a list of non clutsy things I did today:

1.) I walked downstairs. I didn't fall over.
2.) I made a cup of tea.
3.) I wrote some emails.
4.) I printed and stapled several CVs effectively.
5.) I dressed myself.


Well, I think that successfully set the record straight. Now for the embarrassing tale...

So, in Edinburgh, some of us decided to go and see a performance of '"Wuthering Heights." It was one of those intimate theatre spaces where you are literally right next to the cast as they perform. Just as the audience started to go quiet, I heard a funny gargling throat noise. I look at my friend sat next to me. She looked back, with a deer-in-headlight's look in her eye. Her expression was so funny that I spluttered into laughter, but just at that moment, the lights went down, and the performance began. I had not had chance to laugh. I needed to laugh. I tried so very hard to keep a straight face, I mean, we were on the front row! And Wuthering Heights is not a comedic story, the actors would think we were laughing at them! I tried to think of something serious, I put my jumper in front of my face to hide my inane grin, but every time I thought about my friend's startled face, I would let out an involuntary snort, and then in the corner of my eye see my friend crease up into silent laughter. It took us about 10 minutes to stop setting each other off, a good fifth of the show. If anyone from that production happens to be reading this, it was not you I was laughing at. It was my incredibly embarrassing friend. I can only apologise.

The Forgotten Pants

Hello everyone!

Hope everyone is enjoying the glorious sunshine. Actually scratch that, I hope everyone is inside on their laptops enjoying my blog.

Today's tale of hilarity focuses on an issue that I expect all parents have to go through; at what point is your child capable of dressing themselves?

When I was a wee squirt just starting primary school, my mum decided that it was time for me to start dressing myself. The first few days went without a hitch, I was fully dressed for school and proud of my garment assembling achievements. However, after a few weeks went by, it seems I had a little set back. I was in school assembly one afternoon, singing my little heart out to "All things bright and beautiful", legs crossed, as was the norm back then. My father was holding the assembly (he was headmaster of my primary school at the time) and at the end was discreetly informed by another teacher that his daughter did not appear to be wearing any pants. Awkward.

Luckily there were lots of pants on stand by for those anxious children who couldn't hold it in 'til break time, so I was taken by the hand and assisted into a pair of pants. My mum still finds it bizarre to this day that after weeks of dressing myself perfectly, I forgot to put my pants on. I like to think it was a conscious decision on my part; I was making a statement, speaking out against the lack of freedom for our bits and bums, constantly tucked away and restricted in underwear and the like. I have to admit though, the likelihood is, I just forgot.

I am rather pleased my parents chose not to tell me this story until I was grown up, as I would probably have been too mortified to show my face in front of the teacher who noticed my lack of underwear ever again.

So, the moral of this story is, always check your child is wearing pants before they leave the house. And after that, check you have remembered yourself.

Drowsy Driving Fail

Hello again.

It's me, the funny blog lady. My car wouldn't start this morning (dead battery) and it occurred to me that perhaps it is rebelling against me and my occasionally dodgy driving ways. Today's story may explain why dear Maximus quakes in fear whenever I get into the driver's seat and start the engine...

As some of you know I used to be a carer, and this job involved getting up at the crack of dawn most days (6am usually - especially painful in winter). Now I would not say I am the best morning person. I am one of those people who wanders round the house, bleary eyed and unable to form a sentence or change facial expression until I've had a cup of tea and time to recover from my slumberous state. This particular, bitter cold, February day was no exception. Waking at the harsh, uncaring trill of the alarm, my heart sank, knowing soon I would have to get out of my warm, cosy bed haven and into the cold, dark world. I munched my breakfast, slumped on the sofa. I put on my uniform. I tied my hair up and put my contact lenses in, as best one can when their eyes are 90% closed. And I wandered outside to get into my car. Now, our drive is complicated as we have four cars; normally two are in the garage and two side by side on the drive. This time, I noticed that dad's car was next to mine on the drive, as usual, but my sister's car was parked at an angle behind my dad's car, presumably she had come home too tired to bother getting it in the garage.  Some small, almost awake part of my brain let out a tiny, faded glow of light, almost registering that I should be careful when reversing not to catch it. Almost.

I got into Maximus. I turned the heater up to full, shivering. As I started to reverse back, (without looking in my side mirrors) I was just trying to remember whether my ID card was in my pocket or not, when...

SCRAAAAAPE.

Oh no.

I got out, waking up abruptly. That had been quite an ugly noise. I felt along my sister's car worriedly. Yep, sure enough, I had scratched my sister's car. It was still too dark to see the extent of the damage yet. Pants. After standing in the cold for a couple of minutes, flailing, I decided, being the grown up, responsible adult that I am, that the best thing to do was to drive away and text my sister the bad news when I was far, far away.

Luckily for me, my sister had a rainbow of scratches already on her car and said she couldn't tell which one I had done, so she let me off. As for my Maximus, he has a fresh new dint in him, with a few red specks wedged in there that had been peeled off my sister's car. Oops.

What I learnt from this experience, which I hope will help you all in life too, is that operating a vehicle, or heavy machinery, is not advised whilst still half asleep. However, if you are going to attempt it, park it near a car that is already scratched, and maybe the owner won't notice the difference.

Have a good day everyone, and careful driving.

Kind regards,

Your loving squid.

The Wrong Cord

Hello all. Did you miss me? I thought so.

The moral of today's story is the importance of checking before doing, girls and boys. This is a useful thing to do in several areas of life; before crossing the road, before buying a carton of eggs, before eating a pie that a four year old child has made. Checking is extremely important folks. And here is what happens when caution is overlooked...

   So, as some of you know I used to work as a carer, and in some houses people have emergency cords attached. This is so that if they are in trouble for any reason (ie, a fall, sickness) they can pull the cord and it will alert the on-call warden, who, if needs be, can come over and check if they are alright.

So I was in a lady's house and I was desperate for a pee (one of those situations where it niggles at you early on, and you think, huh, I'm busy, I'll go later on. And it goes away. And then it comes back, MEGA strong, and you end up adopting a funny walk, and get a worrying sense that if you don't find a loo within the next few minutes, you will be going regardless). The lady kindly said I could use hers and that it was just down the hall. Down I waddled. Now, it's worth mentioning that the bulb in the corridor light had gone, so it was very dark on approaching the bathroom. I reached the toilet, uttering a sigh of happiness at my imminent relief. I yanked the light cord. Only, it wasn't the light cord. It was the emergency cord.

Immediately a box started beeping loudly. Panic, panic! My original crisis now put on hold, I had to head over to the box and try to figure out how to stop the scary bleeping I had started.

"Hello! Do you need assistance?" Said the box.

"Umm... No, I'm just the carer and I needed to pee... Sorry."

"Ok, good bye then."

It was a little humiliating. I sheepishly headed back to the room where the lady was to see if she was worried about all the curfaffle. She hadn't noticed a thing (I think 'The Cube' was on, and I can vouch that it is a very gripping show.)

I went back into the toilet, as cautious as I could be whilst crossing my legs for fear of going on the carpet. I could see now as my eyes adjusted that the cord I had pulled was red. Avoid that one this time! I could see another thinner, white cord next to it so I pulled that one. Nothing happened. Darn, it must have been the shower cord. This bathroom was booby trapped with misleading cords! By this point I could mess about no longer. I hobbled blindly in the dark, whimpering, located the toilet and sat down abruptly.

What utter relief I felt to finally go!

I don't know what the lady thought I was doing all that time, probably suspected a number 2. It is irritating how the more pressure you feel to do something, the less capable you are of actually doing it. So, here are my words of wisdom. Even in an 'emergency' situation, do not assume that the cord/switch/face you are touching is what you think it is. Or, God forbid,  you could end up with a blog just like mine.

The Giving Blood Fail

Yo.

So, today's story involves giving blood, and don't worry, it's not groce so the squeamish are safe. No images of blood squirting or screams of agony are going to be described in this blog, I assure you.

My mum had been giving blood for years and I could see it was a very worthwhile thing to do. She had even just received a certificate for donating so much, and gotten a free pen - definitely worth it. So I decided, what the heck, I'll be a good citizen, I'll generously give 'em a bit of the old squiddly blood if they want it. Little did I know, it was me that would be jumping through hoops to try and get them to take it in the first place...

Attempt One

Arrived at Leisure Centre. My name is called. I go into one of those little booths, I get  asked all the funny questions ("Have you ever had sexual intercourse with a man who had sexual intercourse with a ferret that had HIV?")

 It's all going well so far. Then they take the iron sample; for those of you who have never been, the iron sample is where they place a drop of your blood into a small tube of liquid and if it sinks to the bottom in under 15 seconds, you have enough iron in your blood to donate. So the nurse puts the blood in the tube, and starts the timer. I'm telling you, you feel like you're being judged, I was inwardly urging my blood on; Go on! You can do it, just sink!

 But it did not listen to me. It meandered around half heartedly, and the time ran out. But sadly, this was not the end of the test. I then had to have a proper needle (boo hoo) and they took a larger sample of my blood and put it on this machine thingy to give us a more accurate reading of my iron count. After a tense few seconds, the machine bleeped, 129. One below what was required to give blood. Pants.

I went home with a sore arm feeling sorry for myself and my poor, rejected blood.


Attempt Two

Arrived at leisure centre. My name was called. I went into the booth. I explained to the nurse what happened last time, and also told her that I tried taking iron tablets but they made me feel sick so I had to stop. The nurse said in that case don't take them then, every body has its own natural level of iron and mine was healthy but still too low to give blood. Not news I wanted to hear. She took some of my blood, into the tube, waited. Same thing happened again. Blood no sinky, nurse no takey, squid no happy. Onto the machine, needle in arm (ouchy) and my reading this time was 134. I was elated, yes! I can give blood now! But my elation was short lived as the nurse said sadly;
"Well you would have been able to give blood with that reading in the past, but unfortunately they raised the iron count required by 5 last month."

Great. Another hurdle in my quest to be helpful.


Attempt Three

Turned away because they had too many people giving blood.


Attempt Four

This time, I was not taking any chances. I ate spinach, I ironed up, I manned through the mild feeling of nausea. I was going to do it. It wasn't even about giving blood any more, it was about beating the nurses.

I got into the booth. The nurse looked at me. I looked back. She took my blood. I twitched. She put it in the tube. Silence as we both watched in anticipation. 10 seconds left, it was falling slowly. 5 seconds left, it was falling quicker...

"Congratulations, you have passed the test!" said the nurse. Well, she didn't actually say that but in my head that is the scenario.

I was going to do it! Finally! I had a huge beam on my face as I walked over to the temporary beds with all the other winners, my nurse came along and attached my bag, attached me to a machine that monitored my blood flow, asked how I was doing, I replied that I was great. The nurse said everything was going smoothly so she was going to leave me alone for a bit. I said no problem. I lay back, a smile on my face, soaking up my victory...

BEEP BEEP!

I opened my eyes. That was strange. It was my machine. My nurse came over and looked at it, she told me it was beeping because the blood flow had slowed down. She moved my arm a bit and the flow picked up. Satisfied, she left me again. I started to relax.

BEEP BEEP!

Oh-oh. The nurse came back, checked me again, said the blood flow was slow again. If it didn't pick up, I wouldn't fill the bag within the 15 minute slot, and my blood wouldn't be able to be used by a patient. In desperation, I asked if there was anything I could do to help. She said I could move my hands and feet to keep the flow going. I started twitching my fingers and toes.

BEEP BEEP!

I started waving my hands.

BEEP BEEP!

I started waving my arms and legs about manically. Other doners were staring.

BEEP BEEP!

The nurse looked at my sympathetically.

I'm sorry, but we will have to stop this donation.

Noooooo! I had failed. For the third time I had failed to give blood. I went home that day deeply saddened by my blood's inability to do as it is told.

The funny thing is, they keep sending me letters saying "Please come back and give us your blood. We really appreciate your support." It's like they're taunting me. You know what, mine is the finest blood around. Any person would be lucky to have it, you mean, rejecter people. There is another session next week and I'm intending to go. Even if I have to jump up and down on a pogo stick whilst donating, I'm going to do it. They will not defeat me.