The wedding is less than three months away. I am oscillating between
(a) Everything is absolutely fine and well in hand. The venue and registrar are both completely booked and paid for so a wedding will definitely happen. Our families have had Save-The-Dates and some have booked hotel rooms so guests will be there even though the proper invitations haven't gone out yet. We have the rings, my dress, and his suit. The DIY projects are on schedule for completion within the next month. The vendors are all booked, deposits are placed, timescales are sensible, and this whole thing should come off without any difficulties at all.
and
(b) PANIC! TOO LITTLE TIME!! TOO MUCH STILL TO DO!!! EVER-DECREASING TIME UNTIL W-DAY!!!! HOW THE SHUDDERING F&%K ARE WE GOING TO GET EVERYTHING SORTED OUT BY THEN?!?!?!?!?!
Showing posts with label confession. Show all posts
Showing posts with label confession. Show all posts
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Procrastination... and breathe
Ok, I am admitting right now to all of you that I am procrastinating on the self-employment front.
I will do it and I am making progress. I'm most of the way through my online business course; I have a Marketing Plan and about three-quarters of a Business Plan; I've written a lot of the text for my website. But I'm having to really push myself over every step.
It's not the work involved. The work is not a problem. The trouble is that I have my self-image, my little mental picture of me... and then I have a little mental picture of A Self-Employed Businesswoman... and there's no way I can manage to superimpose the two. I'm not a shoulder-pads kind of girl, you know? That's part of why I'm setting up as an assistant... I keep wondering who exactly I am trying to kid by calling myself a business.
Anyway, there was a major panic this afternoon when my new Business Advisor asked me about my planned start date and told me that the "HMRC definition is once you have set up your website or have got anything with your name on it – i.e. business card, letterhead, leaflet, etc you are in the eyes of HMRC starting to trade," and I went AWOOOGA! because I've been getting ready piece by piece and have, for instance, set up a business banking account and a PO Box weeks ago, but I don't yet have several other important things like insurance or a tax reference number.
Thankfully I decided that if something is causing me that amount of upset, I should seek a second opinion, and HMRC's self-employment helpline allows me to go straight to source. Turns out it runs from when you have the ability to provide your goods or service and are "open for business". So in my case, since I would currently be telling a potential customer "sorry, I'm not quite ready yet," I have not started to trade, no matter how much of the setup I've got in place.
Phew.
However, it has given me a bit of a kick up the bum about the whole thing. As a result of which, I am eagerly awaiting some insurance quotes and doing my best to remember that all I have to do as a first stage is meet the legal minimum requirements - nobody expects me to become SuperBusinessWoman overnight and the shoulder pads are truly optional.
I will do it and I am making progress. I'm most of the way through my online business course; I have a Marketing Plan and about three-quarters of a Business Plan; I've written a lot of the text for my website. But I'm having to really push myself over every step.
It's not the work involved. The work is not a problem. The trouble is that I have my self-image, my little mental picture of me... and then I have a little mental picture of A Self-Employed Businesswoman... and there's no way I can manage to superimpose the two. I'm not a shoulder-pads kind of girl, you know? That's part of why I'm setting up as an assistant... I keep wondering who exactly I am trying to kid by calling myself a business.
Anyway, there was a major panic this afternoon when my new Business Advisor asked me about my planned start date and told me that the "HMRC definition is once you have set up your website or have got anything with your name on it – i.e. business card, letterhead, leaflet, etc you are in the eyes of HMRC starting to trade," and I went AWOOOGA! because I've been getting ready piece by piece and have, for instance, set up a business banking account and a PO Box weeks ago, but I don't yet have several other important things like insurance or a tax reference number.
Thankfully I decided that if something is causing me that amount of upset, I should seek a second opinion, and HMRC's self-employment helpline allows me to go straight to source. Turns out it runs from when you have the ability to provide your goods or service and are "open for business". So in my case, since I would currently be telling a potential customer "sorry, I'm not quite ready yet," I have not started to trade, no matter how much of the setup I've got in place.
Phew.
However, it has given me a bit of a kick up the bum about the whole thing. As a result of which, I am eagerly awaiting some insurance quotes and doing my best to remember that all I have to do as a first stage is meet the legal minimum requirements - nobody expects me to become SuperBusinessWoman overnight and the shoulder pads are truly optional.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
First Pair Of Socks
So, here we are, second sock completed.
In a wonderful piece of timing, the weather clouded over and got chilly just as I finished taking these photographs, so while I then got cold hands and nose, I did not get cold feetses because they were all happy in snuggly hand-knit socks.
I have to acknowledge that I didn't do these all by myself. There was much help deciphering instructions from internet people like Carie and also, Jiva did a row or two (can't remember) on sock #1 the night we went to the Cider Shed. But, I still have a great sense of personal achievement.
That is good, because really, I needed something to boost me today. Pip still hasn't got his car sorted, so I haven't seen him in quite a while, and phone conversations tend to get interrupted by the Littlun.
I have seen my mother, but she's rather preoccupied with my sister at the moment, who quit her job at the beginning of the week. I spent half an hour by the clock this morning hearing about how wonderful she is and how proud mum is of her. I don't dispute that my sister was capable of doing her job properly (working in a shoe shop) or that this is a good thing. I just don't think it's the best thing since the feeding of the five thousand, I feel that shoe-shop skills are a bit useless once you've quit your shoe-shop-job, and there's a limit to how much cheerleading about a Person Not Present I can listen to before I want to stab DPNs through my ears. Thirty minutes in one go was a bit much.
Okay, so there was a little teensy-weensy bit of me (only, like 85% or something) thinking "hey! Where's the parental pride in MY skills?" but it shouldn't come as a surprise to learn that I didn't actually have the guts to come out and say that.
And anyway, I have Socks.
In a wonderful piece of timing, the weather clouded over and got chilly just as I finished taking these photographs, so while I then got cold hands and nose, I did not get cold feetses because they were all happy in snuggly hand-knit socks.
I have to acknowledge that I didn't do these all by myself. There was much help deciphering instructions from internet people like Carie and also, Jiva did a row or two (can't remember) on sock #1 the night we went to the Cider Shed. But, I still have a great sense of personal achievement.
That is good, because really, I needed something to boost me today. Pip still hasn't got his car sorted, so I haven't seen him in quite a while, and phone conversations tend to get interrupted by the Littlun.
I have seen my mother, but she's rather preoccupied with my sister at the moment, who quit her job at the beginning of the week. I spent half an hour by the clock this morning hearing about how wonderful she is and how proud mum is of her. I don't dispute that my sister was capable of doing her job properly (working in a shoe shop) or that this is a good thing. I just don't think it's the best thing since the feeding of the five thousand, I feel that shoe-shop skills are a bit useless once you've quit your shoe-shop-job, and there's a limit to how much cheerleading about a Person Not Present I can listen to before I want to stab DPNs through my ears. Thirty minutes in one go was a bit much.
Okay, so there was a little teensy-weensy bit of me (only, like 85% or something) thinking "hey! Where's the parental pride in MY skills?" but it shouldn't come as a surprise to learn that I didn't actually have the guts to come out and say that.
And anyway, I have Socks.
Friday, May 18, 2007
Internet Addiction?
On May 9th I mentioned a number of half-written posts I had and asked which ones I should make into full posts. The answer seemed to be "all of them, why not?" so here's the first. I'm not entirely happy with it, but it's the most complete one of the lot, and I'm not having a great time for concentration at the moment so bah, it'll do.
While aimlessly reading through the BBC Magazine Monitor's "100 things we didn't know last year", I came across this article.
Apparently more than one in eight adults in the (US) study were internet addicts. Signs of addiction include:
- Finding it hard to stay away from the Internet for several days at a time
- Often staying online longer than intended
- Having seen a need "at some point" to cut down on Internet use
- Attempting to conceal Internet use
- Using the Internet to escape problems or "relieve negative mood"
- Relationships suffering from excessive Internet use
Lists like this cover most forms of addiction. Just read the list above substituting "alcohol" or "heroin" or "gambling" or "bingeing on chocolate" for "Internet".
For the record, I freely admit to finding it hard to stay away from the internet for more than a day or two, and I come online to "relieve negative mood" - it's something I enjoy doing, in the same way as I enjoy a nice bath, or a cuppa with a friend. I'm "online" most of the time, most days, but while the computer and msn and so on are "online" I'm quite probably curled up on the sofa snoozing, or filling out a form, or tidying up around the flat. I do my computer-stuff in many short bursts rather than one long stint. I've never tried to conceal my usage, and I'm pretty certain my relationships haven't suffered - quite the opposite! I'm hazy on the idea of "non-essential use". If I order groceries online because it's easier for me than going to a shop, is that essential or not? If Steve plays an online game for half an hour to relax after a crappy day at work, is his relaxation essential? Is reading the news essential? Is contact with long-distance relatives essential?
Even if we get an idea of what is essential use and what is non-essential, but reasonable use, we then still end up on the same old cycle of trying to figure out at which point the use is defined as an addiction. Where's the line that makes it a problem, or possibly even a pathology?
It may partly depend on what the activity is. I know many people who like to read books. They wouldn't want to spend several days without reading a book. They become immersed in a book at bedtime and then realise it's 4am and they've been reading much longer than intended. They have realised they have more books than shelf-space and decided to get rid of a few. They read books to "escape from reality" or because it relaxes them, or cheers them up. But no one would dream of telling them they are addicts, or that they have a problem, or that they must empty their houses of books and from now on they can only read road signs. You just don't do that with Reading Books. Is it reasonable to do it with Using the Internet? Writing diaries is another one. If Samuel Pepys was alive today and writing his memoirs in daily blog form, would he be castigated as an internet addict with "compulsive behaviour issues" as these researchers put it?
It also depends to what extent the activity is taken. For instance, it is normal, even desirable behaviour to keep one's home clean. I also know people who like to take pride in keeping their houses neat and clean. Rather than "oh no, housework, it's got to be done but I wish I didn't have to do it," they actually quite enjoy tidying a room, putting things in the proper places, polishing the surfaces, fluffing the cushions and looking at the results with a sense of deep satisfaction. Then there are those who feel distinctly uncomfortable in an untidy room - people who come to your house for a cup of tea and can't help themselves from lining up your remote controls in order of size on the coffee table, or even say "I'll just rinse my cup out," and then start washing up your breakfast things from that morning. And then there are those who compulsively and constantly deep-clean everything. A friend of mine got burns on her legs at someone's house because she hadn't been warned to wipe the bleach off the toilet seat before sitting down - the householder in question reapplied the bleach several times a day. Few people would argue a statement that this last example shows signs of a problem. But at which point along the spectrum does the "problem" status apply?
I think perhaps the line between a hobby or interest, and an addiction, is when it has a real impact on other people. I'm having trouble imagining someone shoplifting their food and mugging people so that they can pay their line rental or get another couple of gig of bandwidth... but I can, for instance, imagine a child with a full nappy and an empty bottle sticking their fingers in sockets while their parent is at the other end of the house having "just one more f5", so maybe internet addiction isn't such an outlandish concept.
Hopefully someone will prod me before I get too sucked in.
While aimlessly reading through the BBC Magazine Monitor's "100 things we didn't know last year", I came across this article.
Apparently more than one in eight adults in the (US) study were internet addicts. Signs of addiction include:
- Finding it hard to stay away from the Internet for several days at a time
- Often staying online longer than intended
- Having seen a need "at some point" to cut down on Internet use
- Attempting to conceal Internet use
- Using the Internet to escape problems or "relieve negative mood"
- Relationships suffering from excessive Internet use
Lists like this cover most forms of addiction. Just read the list above substituting "alcohol" or "heroin" or "gambling" or "bingeing on chocolate" for "Internet".
For the record, I freely admit to finding it hard to stay away from the internet for more than a day or two, and I come online to "relieve negative mood" - it's something I enjoy doing, in the same way as I enjoy a nice bath, or a cuppa with a friend. I'm "online" most of the time, most days, but while the computer and msn and so on are "online" I'm quite probably curled up on the sofa snoozing, or filling out a form, or tidying up around the flat. I do my computer-stuff in many short bursts rather than one long stint. I've never tried to conceal my usage, and I'm pretty certain my relationships haven't suffered - quite the opposite! I'm hazy on the idea of "non-essential use". If I order groceries online because it's easier for me than going to a shop, is that essential or not? If Steve plays an online game for half an hour to relax after a crappy day at work, is his relaxation essential? Is reading the news essential? Is contact with long-distance relatives essential?
Even if we get an idea of what is essential use and what is non-essential, but reasonable use, we then still end up on the same old cycle of trying to figure out at which point the use is defined as an addiction. Where's the line that makes it a problem, or possibly even a pathology?
It may partly depend on what the activity is. I know many people who like to read books. They wouldn't want to spend several days without reading a book. They become immersed in a book at bedtime and then realise it's 4am and they've been reading much longer than intended. They have realised they have more books than shelf-space and decided to get rid of a few. They read books to "escape from reality" or because it relaxes them, or cheers them up. But no one would dream of telling them they are addicts, or that they have a problem, or that they must empty their houses of books and from now on they can only read road signs. You just don't do that with Reading Books. Is it reasonable to do it with Using the Internet? Writing diaries is another one. If Samuel Pepys was alive today and writing his memoirs in daily blog form, would he be castigated as an internet addict with "compulsive behaviour issues" as these researchers put it?
It also depends to what extent the activity is taken. For instance, it is normal, even desirable behaviour to keep one's home clean. I also know people who like to take pride in keeping their houses neat and clean. Rather than "oh no, housework, it's got to be done but I wish I didn't have to do it," they actually quite enjoy tidying a room, putting things in the proper places, polishing the surfaces, fluffing the cushions and looking at the results with a sense of deep satisfaction. Then there are those who feel distinctly uncomfortable in an untidy room - people who come to your house for a cup of tea and can't help themselves from lining up your remote controls in order of size on the coffee table, or even say "I'll just rinse my cup out," and then start washing up your breakfast things from that morning. And then there are those who compulsively and constantly deep-clean everything. A friend of mine got burns on her legs at someone's house because she hadn't been warned to wipe the bleach off the toilet seat before sitting down - the householder in question reapplied the bleach several times a day. Few people would argue a statement that this last example shows signs of a problem. But at which point along the spectrum does the "problem" status apply?
I think perhaps the line between a hobby or interest, and an addiction, is when it has a real impact on other people. I'm having trouble imagining someone shoplifting their food and mugging people so that they can pay their line rental or get another couple of gig of bandwidth... but I can, for instance, imagine a child with a full nappy and an empty bottle sticking their fingers in sockets while their parent is at the other end of the house having "just one more f5", so maybe internet addiction isn't such an outlandish concept.
Hopefully someone will prod me before I get too sucked in.
Monday, March 12, 2007
In which I am an Unethical Cowbag
I've just lied my arse off about the nature of my disability to a couple of salespeople and I feel really very guilty about having done it, so I thought I'd confess to The Internet (iGod isn't as satisfying as it once was).
I was coming up for my next dose of painkillers when there was a tap at the flat door. So I hauled myself up to answer it. Two people, a man and a woman, in suits, were standing there. We got as far as "Hi, you're Mary, yes? I'm Mark and this is..." before my legs gave way and I slid halfway down the wall. And it's impressive that I lasted that long.
There's then a short piece of confusion. The man asked me if I should be sitting down and I agreed and then somehow we were all in my flat. I remember inviting them to sit down because that's what you do when people are in your flat, and then everyone standing in confusion because there were three of us and only one seat available (the others being taken up with my laptop, and the cutlery tray from the kitchen drawer that broke a couple of weeks back - really must get that fixed). They told me to sit down, which I happily did, and as my head got back on track the man knelt on the floor by the sofa and asked if I was okay.
Then they introduced themselves again and that is when I realised they were salespeople. My first thought was "how come there are salespeople inside my flat?" followed by "oh bums. Salespeople aren't going to leave until they've got my signature on something. I can't stand up, so I can't shoo them out, and I don't have the oomph right now to be terribly over-assertive..."
As they opened their spiel I couldn't think of anything apart from how to get them to Go Away. I don't care if I could save up to 10% a month on my electricity bills. A direct debit goes out every month to cover my electricity, and if I'm paying a couple of quid more than I absolutely need to, well, that's the price I pay for not having to muck about and try to understand deals and shift suppliers and adjust payments and so on, and the state my brain is in that's a price worth paying for things to carry on smoothly. I was trying to work out how to explain this to them when it hit me that this might, after all, be a way out.
"Can I cut you off for a moment?" I said. "As you can see, I'm in a bit of a state. I have long-term cognitive difficulties so I'm not going to be able to take in half of what you say." So far so true. Then the lies spilled forth. "I can't sign anything, but if you can leave me, like, a leaflet or something, then I can discuss it next time I see my advocate and take it from there." That's tosh. I don't have an advocate, unless you count my mum. I'm perfectly capable of signing things and I don't have any alternate signatorys on my bank account or anything like that. And even if I did, I very much doubt I would waste an advocate's time trying to change electricity suppliers.
It worked. The young man told me they didn't have any leaflets, but if I could show him my last electricity bill, he could write on it exactly what the difference would be so that I could show "my advocate". As it happened, my latest electricity bill was lying on the table, so I gave it to him and he wrote down his phone number (a regular mobile phone number, which I found odd) and the price comparisons between my current supplier and their company. They said I should tell my advocate that with my current supplier I was getting the worst deal possible and that it was really quite important to sort it out. After a bit more of this, to make sure the message had sunk in, they left, thank god, and I locked the flat door behind them.
I really hate playing the disability card and I'm really bothered about having lied. I phoned Steve, but he was more upset about me having let them into the flat in the first place, which is understandable, but it's not like they'd come to rape, mug and murder me. What bugs me most is that not only did I use my disability as an excuse, but I also painted myself as being less capable than I actually am. I think I had a good reason, and it's not something I intend to make a habit of, but I feel very unhappy to have done it at all.
I was coming up for my next dose of painkillers when there was a tap at the flat door. So I hauled myself up to answer it. Two people, a man and a woman, in suits, were standing there. We got as far as "Hi, you're Mary, yes? I'm Mark and this is..." before my legs gave way and I slid halfway down the wall. And it's impressive that I lasted that long.
There's then a short piece of confusion. The man asked me if I should be sitting down and I agreed and then somehow we were all in my flat. I remember inviting them to sit down because that's what you do when people are in your flat, and then everyone standing in confusion because there were three of us and only one seat available (the others being taken up with my laptop, and the cutlery tray from the kitchen drawer that broke a couple of weeks back - really must get that fixed). They told me to sit down, which I happily did, and as my head got back on track the man knelt on the floor by the sofa and asked if I was okay.
Then they introduced themselves again and that is when I realised they were salespeople. My first thought was "how come there are salespeople inside my flat?" followed by "oh bums. Salespeople aren't going to leave until they've got my signature on something. I can't stand up, so I can't shoo them out, and I don't have the oomph right now to be terribly over-assertive..."
As they opened their spiel I couldn't think of anything apart from how to get them to Go Away. I don't care if I could save up to 10% a month on my electricity bills. A direct debit goes out every month to cover my electricity, and if I'm paying a couple of quid more than I absolutely need to, well, that's the price I pay for not having to muck about and try to understand deals and shift suppliers and adjust payments and so on, and the state my brain is in that's a price worth paying for things to carry on smoothly. I was trying to work out how to explain this to them when it hit me that this might, after all, be a way out.
"Can I cut you off for a moment?" I said. "As you can see, I'm in a bit of a state. I have long-term cognitive difficulties so I'm not going to be able to take in half of what you say." So far so true. Then the lies spilled forth. "I can't sign anything, but if you can leave me, like, a leaflet or something, then I can discuss it next time I see my advocate and take it from there." That's tosh. I don't have an advocate, unless you count my mum. I'm perfectly capable of signing things and I don't have any alternate signatorys on my bank account or anything like that. And even if I did, I very much doubt I would waste an advocate's time trying to change electricity suppliers.
It worked. The young man told me they didn't have any leaflets, but if I could show him my last electricity bill, he could write on it exactly what the difference would be so that I could show "my advocate". As it happened, my latest electricity bill was lying on the table, so I gave it to him and he wrote down his phone number (a regular mobile phone number, which I found odd) and the price comparisons between my current supplier and their company. They said I should tell my advocate that with my current supplier I was getting the worst deal possible and that it was really quite important to sort it out. After a bit more of this, to make sure the message had sunk in, they left, thank god, and I locked the flat door behind them.
I really hate playing the disability card and I'm really bothered about having lied. I phoned Steve, but he was more upset about me having let them into the flat in the first place, which is understandable, but it's not like they'd come to rape, mug and murder me. What bugs me most is that not only did I use my disability as an excuse, but I also painted myself as being less capable than I actually am. I think I had a good reason, and it's not something I intend to make a habit of, but I feel very unhappy to have done it at all.
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