Vicky Goes On (Again)

Tag: Life

  • More DIY and a mild breakdown (Through the Keyhole)

    Through the escutcheon

    I was supposed to really sort my bedroom out this weekend.

    Reader, I did not.

    My flatmate sorted his out and bragged to me about it. My flatmate is a tosser.

    I did learn that the metal bit surrounding a keyhole is called an escutcheon so who’s the real winner here? That’s right, me. I also learned that whoever fitted the keyhole, lock, and escutcheon on my flat door was a lunatic since they made the hole far too big for the escutcheon to be screwed into the door. I have therefore spent far too long putting Polyfilla in the hole and using a chopstick to ensure that the key can still go into the keyhole and then doing all of that all over again because I hadn’t allowed the Polyfilla to completely dry.

    What I’m saying is is that although I did not “do my room” I did do things. Because I am a procrastinator. I know, we all are nowadays. With our ADHD and neurodivergence but sometimes this comes in handy. When else am I going to fix a keyhole **escutcheon**? And look at my skills with a chopstick and Polyfilla! Fall on your knees in praise at my resourcefulness. I’m a goddamn Renaissance man. Woman. PERSON.

    Anyway, the keyhole is still not actually fixed but that is by the by. The bedroom is still a right state, but I’ll get to it later. Later. I’m off to do the washing up.

    ————————————————————————-

    P.S. When are the things actually done? Is it not true that there is always fucking something? Look, pardon my actual French but I am suddenly overwhelmed with anger about the fact that everything needs doing all of the time. When can we just be done!? OK, when we’re dead but then other people need to do an awful lot of things then too. I need a lie down.

  • On being a reader who does not read

    I used to read so much. I used to lie in bed on Saturdays and read and read and read, only getting up to go to the loo and grab a quick snack just to go back to bed and continue reading. I used to walk down the street, nose in a book, glancing up to make sure I wasn’t walking into a ditch. Man, I loved to read.

    And then my mum died. And I just couldn’t read any more. I couldn’t take the silence and I couldn’t pause my racing thoughts. I couldn’t quieten down. Every time I tried to the pain and anguish I was feeling at losing my mum would engulf me and I would cry and wail. I would think of the last time I saw her, holding her papery thin hands and remember that I would never do that again and I would close the book and distract myself (or cry and cry and cry). And then 2 years and 1 week later my dad died and all the mourning I had done for my mum added to the now current grief I was feeling for my dad and I thought about all of the things plus more and I could not open a book, nor watch a film, nor sit quietly with my thoughts because 99% of my thoughts were, “I miss my mum and dad”. Grief is a kicker.

    In the past 4 years I have read maybe 5 books. That’s not a lot of books. That’s slightly more than 1 book a year. For someone who could read 1 book a day this is devastating. What’s more, I have had to reconcile myself with the knowledge that I am no longer a “reader”. Right? So, when asked what my hobbies and interests are I can’t, in all good conscience, say ‘reading’. I can say, ‘reading Wikipedia entries for random nonsense that occurs to me in the 15 seconds of silence between finding stuff to listen to’, but it’s a bit wordy.

    I mean, what I’m saying here is who are we? Are we our hobbies? Our jobs? Are we our nationalities? Our teams? Our political parties? Yes and, of course, no. I can knit but I am not a knitter.

    I am a reader who does not read.

  • Trainer shopping for the middle-aged

    I have foot pain. I decided that I was going to buy some comfy-soled trainers (sneakers) like an old lady might buy but not Skechers. I have seen too many videos of podiatrists saying that they are SO BAD and the WORST thing for your feet. Also, I don’t like them. I may be 43 ok 36 OK 43 but I like a cool shoe. Like, classic, I’m a sneakerhead but for very specific styles. They gotta be bad, they gotta be bold, they gotta be wiser… I like Adidas, Puma, Reebok, Nike (but I’m not a millionaire), New Balance (but I’m not a millionaire. Also, when the heck did *that* happen?). I like classic, originals, and they have to have a certain je ne sais quoi .

    But the older I get the harder it is. I don’t want to wear geography teacher c. 1980s shoes.

    Hi-Tec that your geography teacher wore on the school trip to Chessington World of Adventures

    Which aren’t bad per se, just not for cool, hip, ladies with heel-pain. And I cannot buy Gola shoes despite the fact that they are looking pretty cool nowadays. I was brought up in the 80s and 90s. Do you know what ridicule you would have been subjected to if you were bussin’ the Gola back in the day? And although I am not one to bow to peer pressure I just can’t do it man. I think the problem with Gola is they looked like knock-off Adidas your mum bought from Church Street market.

    1990s Gola shoe or is it fake Adidas?

    Anyway, I recently bought some Adidas with some cloud something something insole and I thought, well, they’re £37 from Sports Direct and my heel was killing me. I didn’t really like them but they were boring and black so harmless enough. I hate them. They have not helped my heel in any way shape or form. And they have this weird reflective bit on them. Rubbish. So, I bought these and they’re funky and my foot feels better so Reebok Classics for the win.

    Reebok Classics for the WIN

    And I got student discount because I’m young at heart.