Deleting friends

How satisfying is a clear out? You buy stuff, you collect, hoard, can't let it go. "Maybe I'll wear it again...?" You think, "I can't get rid of it, I used to love it. The holes mean nothing to me."

And then one day you start to tidy up, sort out, make a pile for charity, and suddenly you can't stop and your wardrobe is 50% smaller and you start to complain you have nothing to wear.

Cathartic, isn't it? 

Well, this weekend I did just this. Instead of clothes though, I had a Facebook sort out, and once I'd started deleting friends I couldn't stop. I'm still going back to the list to de-friend just one more. It's an addiction.

The first to go were people I didn't know/recognise. I thought I didn't have any of those so they were a bit bewildering to find. Next was anyone particularly annoying, whiny, a little bit too racist.. Then people I wasn't really friends with at school, people who I'm sure are equally unlikely to wonder what I'm doing with my life as I am for them. 

And of course people I just didn't like. 

Oh, and a couple who I actually do like, are interesting but invite me to some event or other every 2 days. 

I felt mean. I felt powerful. I felt godlike. "Like flies to wanton boys are we to the gods. They kill us for their sport." Except somewhat less violent. 

I wondered briefly if anyone would notice, or care if they did. I suspect not. 

It's possible my reader numbers will take a hit. I can only wait and see.

All was going swimmingly and most satisfyingly until I realised that I had been defriended! What? Someone I used to work with and was actually quite close to. Someone who once tried to spoon me. That crossed line I forgave him for. This is unforgivable. I would defriend him immediately if he hadn't already got me first.

So I'm curious to know what his reasons were for a clear out, and why I didn't make the cut. Did I complain too much? Did I post too many self-indulgent and badly spelled blogs? Or did he just decide he didn't like me after all?

I can't ask him. If he's not on Facebook he doesn't exist anymore. You know how it works...you aren't real if you aren't there. I can't even remember his name now. 

But does that mean I don't exist now for all those people I deleted? 

I don't think I mind that actually. So farewell Facebook friends. I probably won't see you around, which is exactly the point really. 

Swimming

In the tradition of all women, one glimpse of the sun and I feel like it's time to do some exercise. Not that there's much prospect of me going anywhere bikini-worthy anytime soon but still. Just in case. 

Actually it's not about shaping up for me really. I just kind of like that buzzy feeling you get in your limbs after a ballet class; or the flying feeling of cycling; or the joy of climbing trees. It's happiness. 

However, since returning from my travels I've had a notable break from movement. Dance classes are out of reach for my draining bank account (damn it India!), running hurts and I'm kind of a fair weather cyclist if I'm honest. 

But you'll all be pleased to hear Isadora is back in my life, complete with wicker basket and yellow helmet. I'm incredibly glamorous. And even though I have not plucked up the courage to get back in a leotard and into class, I have played "badminton" with my flat mate and today I went swimming.

Ok. Considering I like exercise, I like baths, the sea, the feeling of my limbs underwater, I am a bad swimmer. Three lengths and I had to have a little rest. Then another little rest every time I reached the wall. I could tell my arms would rather I drowned than have to continue moving. 

I may have held up the other woman in the slow lane. Sorry about that. 

Yes, I feel like my whole body has had a workout. No, I was not in actual harmful pain like when I try to run. But when I got out of the pool I thought I was going to fall over and I struggled to lift my arms high enough to take my towel off the peg. 

In fact I felt so awful I had to buy myself a pulled pork sandwich on the way home to make it all better. It was the best sandwich I've ever eaten. 

Needless to say, I will go again soon. For the post-swim treat. Just like when mum made me go to swimming lessons and bribed me with a Bertie Burger and chips. Clearly that's the way to encourage me: food. 

In defence of the actual act of swimming, I must say that it's a very nice pool and if you do backstroke you can see the sky. I really enjoyed it for the first two and a half minutes. 

Now, to further reward myself I'm sat in a beer garden drinking Pimms. For the fruit obviously. My arms are too weak to lift the glass so I had to pick something that came with a straw.

Flat Pack Furniture

I have been back in London now for almost four months. I'm pretty much settled back in, and yet I have been living out of a suitcase for the whole time.
Was it a subconcious way of deluding myself I was still travelling? Possibly...on some very deep level. Actually, it was more that I had no time or money to buy a chest of drawers.
Well this week I have plenty of time (still no money but I got to suck it up and buy the damn thing sooner or later) so I ordered one from Argos thinking I'd spend a day off constructing flat pack furniture.
I also bought a desk so that my (desktop) computer has somewhere to sit that is not the floor. It's somewhat inconvenient down there.
And this brought up the first confusion. Argos, instead of asking what day I want my order to be delivered, asked me separately for each individual item. Why would I not want them to come on the same day?
Of course I picked the first day that both could be delivered and thought nothing more of it until this morning when the chest of drawers arrived but not the desk. I asked the man, who told me it would probably come on the transit van later. Then he asked me to make him lunch.
Ermmmm....? In a word...
So still expecting a desk to arrive anytime before 8 I set to work putting together my now glorious chest of drawers.
There are a lot of parts in that box. And who knew that many types of screw existed? But that was not what bothered me.
I thought the point of flatpack furniture was that anyone can put it together, that everything you need comes in that box. But no. On page 2 of the instructions I was informed that I needed a hammer, a screwdriver, scissors, tape measure and safety goggles.
Safety goggles??
Lucky for me, my flatmate (who is moving out on Sunday. SOB!) has quite an extensive toolkit. Well done her. There were no safety goggles but I managed without.
I grabbed a beer and began work. That seems like the appropriate beverage for DIY, doesn't it? And before long I was folding all my clothes into their new home. Hurrah!
And then I waited for the desk. And waited. And waited.
And it bloody hasn't come, has it?! Stupid Argos. I'm not even in until Wednesday. When am I going to get that now?
I was just kind of hoping to have a pretty much complete room by June (better late than never). Argos, you'd better look out for an angry/mildly irritated phone call at some point.
I do know though, that the desk will be build by a brilliant craftsperson so I guess the masterpiece will be worth the wait.
The only question is: will I still have access to the tools by then? What happened to the classic allen key?
That's two questions. Never mind.

Stuff about me.

We have been acquainted for a long time now. I have no idea who you are of course but I've been sharing my life, thoughts and probably sometimes shaky opinions with you for over a year by now. Time flies, eh? 

But here are some things you might not know yet. (Do not expect my bank details and address to appear here.)

A couple of days ago I managed to lock myself in the building next door to the shop where I work and didn't really know how I got there. It was like a very disappointing Narnia.

I lost the key to my locker, broke my bike and forgot my Oyster card in the same day.

Apart from the bike, things I own that are broken include my iPod, my laptop, the Internet of my PC, and almost all of the bags I own. And some of my shoes. 

Yesterday, 4 months ago I was in a hot spring in the Himalayas. 

Yesterday I moved all my bedroom furniture, cleaned the oven, did 3 loads of laundry, took out the recycling, watched a programme about why the descendants of slaves are better athletes, played the ukulele and wrote my name, date of birth and confirmed that I am eligible to work in the UK on 3 application forms. I did not complete the small essay questions that seems to be on them all. That seemed to much like hard work after inhaling oven cleaner fumes.

I have 5 spanners of various sizes in a row on my bedside table.

There are at least 6 books in my head that I think about writing but can't quite decide which one or how to go about it. 

I'm learning to write with my left hand because I once learned about a sailor who had to after his right hand was blown off with a canon ball. I want to be prepared. 

Tomorrow will be the first day I'm not working in 36 days. I'm excited.

Sometimes when talking to customers, I realise I'm not actually talking but making gestures and funny faces that convey my meaning perfectly. I suspect I'm talking to them directly mind to mind and now I have noticed this gift it will vanish forever like the elves from The Elves and the Shoemaker. 

Sometimes I change my handwriting on purpose, just for a little variety. I'm currently experimenting with a new style of A. 

I'm sleepy now. 

Exploring Publishing

I write from the middle of my first foray into "things-I-might-want-to-do-with-my-life." The first potential career I'm investigating is Publishing, courtesy of a month of work experience (aka general dogsbody-ing) at HarperCollins Children's Books. 

So far I have posted alot of books to various other publishers and authors (receiving a delightful letter from the genius that is Michael Bond in the process), looked stuff up on the Internet (random facts, Dr Seuss quotes), made a few spreadsheets and word documents, made a mailing list, rejected a pile of illustrator CV's that I didn't like, sent a thousand prizes to various competition winners.

The trick is though, to keep an eye on what the actual employees are doing to see if that looks like something potentially interesting. I would hope that if I actually worked there I'd get more interesting stuff to do than sealing envelopes. We'd get a work experience sucker in to do that crap. 

So what am I learning? 

Well for a start how to work in an office: how to sit in front of a computer for hours; what to wear; when it's appropriate to break the spell of silence and concentration, and initiate a chat. 

I used excel for an actual purposes for the first time...definitely banging that on the old CV. 

Now, what do I like and dislike? 

My favourite thing about HarperCollins is the staff cafe. They make amazing food for like £3 or so. There is also always boxes of biscuits or Quality Street hanging around the office. Who am I to refuse?

I like not having to do any lifting or cleaning. I like not having to deal with the general public. I love the picture books. Oliver Jeffers may be the coolest person in the world: picture book author, illustrator, plays the ukulele, writes stories about penguin, moose, a kite up a tree. I like how simple it all seems. Contrary to my fears that I might be incapable of a grown up job, it's actually pretty easy. So that's a relief.

I do not like the taste of envelope glue. I hate having to be on the tube at rush hour. I don't love being given instructions by the peron sat next to me via email. That's a bit weird.

What I've really got from the experience though is the wish to write my own picture book. Can't be that difficult can it? I mean, I can't draw but I'll just get someone else in to do that for me.

But publishing seems fine. Not as glorious I expected with all the competition for jobs but better than my actual jobs. And you can read at work. What a delight. 

I will continue to consider it and let the publishing world of my decision. Then I'll be snapped up I expect, if my letter sending skills are anything to go by. Damn, I'm efficient. 

Live Below the Line, Part 2

Ok, I am two days into Live Below the Line Challenge. Three days to go. It's still light outside with hours until bed time and I cannot eat or drink anything more today except tap water and maybe (if I'm particularly desperate) some sliced white bread. Value of course.
Now, I'm not a particularly foody person (Kirsty is...she must be suffering) but this just takes so much thought. Here's a joyful picture of my shopping basket for the week:

The binge on Sainsbury's Value products was only stage one of preparation though. Next came sums. Erghhhhh!! I haven't done so much maths since I was 16. Did you know that a portion of porridge costs 8p. That is for an adult portion. I can only manage a 4p Jess-sized portion because I have no milk or sugar to make it with. It is gruel and tastes of sadness.
I think I'm doing pretty well though. Yesterday I only ate 52p worth of food all day (porridge, a banana, half a value pizza). Yes, that is not much food. I had intended to eat more but I didn't have a chance to do the proper shop before Monday. And you know what that meant: hungry grocery shopping at the end of the day, and with a strick £5 budget. Possibly the most painful thing EVER. No marsbar for the journey home for me. Minisob.
And today I felt genuine hunger before lunch. My stomach grew a small and very loud monster that growled a lot.
And then I get to the meals themselves. I mentioned the porridge already but dinner this evening was just so bland. And stodgy. And uninspiring.
Yes, yes...the food I cook is often uninspiring. I don't put much effort into cooking for myself normally. That's the beauty of working at a nice cafe that feeds me. Good food, no effort.
This challenge is just that: a challenge. I'm eating, yes. But I actually have to spend time both planning and cooking and I get nothing tasty. Sigh.
Of course, some of you reading this will put thought and love into your food on a regular basis. But that probably means you are good cooks and buy stuff like salmon, asparagus, steak... mmmm.... not rice, stock and frozen veg.
So it's difficult, and for my efforts, and Kirsty's (who likes food much more than me) you should definitely sponsor us by clicking here. Your money will go straight to UNICEF to help children who live like this...no much worse than this all the time.
Thank you to you kind and wonderful people who have already donated. For all of you, and in case you need more persuading, here is our charity video that is sure to melt the stoniest of hearts:
DONATE!!! by Kirsty Green and Jess Williams. Filmed by Amy Gomez.

Phone calls in vain.

Man, don't you just hate an 0845 number called in vain. Especially when you're calling to ask for money. Not only do they say no, you know that call has probably cost you a week's wages. Clearly that's not ideal.
So why was I asking for money? No, it was not to ask random companies to sponsor us for Live Below The Line (still time for you to do so though). I recently decided that a bit of education and delicious learning was in order. Namely an Open University history degree. It will take me forever to complete but that's ok. I love a project.
Trouble is, I already have a "degree." That is a foundation degree in Theatre Dance which was great but I only wrote about 5000 words for in total. And we all know I love to write. This means I already have a student loan to my name. And THAT means no more funding.
Sadness.
I suppose I understand. I already have one loan I'm 97% sure I won't pay back. Arty degrees are bad investments i reckon. Joyful, yes. Lucrative, rarely. This is a country in debt...maybe it's a little selfish to even ask for more monies. But what to do now?
Is it worth it to just study for no qualification at all? And will it work without any form of guidance? I don't know...
More importantly, am I that disciplined?
So self funding? Gulp. Maybe this Live Below The Line will continue indefinitely.
So now I have this negative information and the thing that annoys me most is my next phone bill. Because it was apparently unnecessary. 3 calls that got me nowhere.
In other, and better, news I did manage to speak on the phone with confidence and an excellent telephone manner. And Because i knew i was paying i was soooo efficient. I'm growing as a human being.
So thank Student Finance and OU. You have helped me after all.