King of the Prevaricators

Okay, so it’s a gloriously sunny day after all. It started out grey, cool, and drizzly. I know that because I got up very early (for me) – about 6:30am, because Monday is Bin Day, and they come before eight. I was so tired and lazy last night, I decided to go to bed rather than put the bins out, on the condition that I do it this morning. I could probably have slept on and on despite the early bedtime, but once the bins were out (slightly hampered by a skip that the guy, for the second time, dumped virtually diagonally in the drive) I sat at my desk and turned on Radio 4 rather than crashing back into bed. And soon enough, I was awake, so I didn’t go back to sleep.

That might have been the start of a very productive day – I certianly had that planned. You see, after four weeks away, my mum is coming back home for a while. Since I have been living off her good grace, I want it to be obvious that plenty has changed around here during her absence – the deal is (as far as I am concerned), I don’t have to feel guilty about sponging because I am earning my keep by clearing the house of all the years of accumulated rubbish – something noone else is prepared to do. In the two months I’ve been back here now, I haven’t achieved a quarter of what I should have done, but it’s a start. I filled two skips, and have done a bit of clearing, rearranging, tidying and some stuff in the garden.

Some things are beyond me – I can’t do much decorating without the materials, or the direction (it’s not up to me what to do – even though I could transform the house into a much nicer place, I can’t really call the shots – it’s their house, after all, and not mine), and I won’t dabble in anything that really requires skilled tradesmen, like electrics, roofing, damp etc. All I can do is shift stuff, clean, tidy and so on. I have done some, but not enough. Although, if I get through my ‘to-do’ list before my mum comes back tomorrow, I will be satisfied.

But will she? I hope so. I already feel pretty worthless right now. Giving up work for a while seemed like such a relief – and it is so nice to be free of the time demands full-time work entails. But, I am desperately poor. I mean, I currently have £15, and the only source of further funds is my parents. I went to a shop today to sell my bass guitar and amp – they are a specialist place, and a sign in the window said they bought equipment for cash. I stalled for a good few days, but finally cleaned it up (it’s been gathering dust for years in the corner of my room, although having never been used, it’s in excellent condition), and bit the bullet on Saturday – I went along and asked if I should take it in. The guy said I should, as he was not the owner, but today, having carried these surprisingly heavy items there, I was told he wasn’t looking to buy anything currently. So, I lugged them back. There goes any chance of spending money for the next month – which I could really do with, as it is Manchester Pride this Bank Holiday (as it is every August), and I have a ticket and intend to go. No money means no way – I wouldn;t even be able to afford the rail fare there and back as things stand.

Aside from food, and the occasional night out, I am spending nothing at all. My main outgoings are fixed – a bank loan I wish I’d never taken out (originally intended to fund my continued existence in London, specifically for a deposit on a flat, plus paying off part of my distended overdraft), my mobile phone bill, and my contact lens subscription. Those three things alone account for £270 a month – manageable on a full-time wage, but terrifying on nil income. I do go out, too often, but this past month my average spend is less than £5 a time – literally. I have had nights out for £2, and even this Saturday, which was special because my very good friend came over, and we made a real effort, only came to about £7 – partly because she is very generous these days, kindly buying me drinks. Actually, I spent £2 on the taxi, £1 on entry to one place, £2 on entry to another, and £2 on a drink, so really that’s very good indeed (a Saturday, remember!). In context, it’s still a lot, because I could eat for a week on that if I’m careful, but if I were not to go out, I wouldn’t see anyone at all, and would be even more lonely and isolated.

Yes, isolation is something I craved, so some extent, when I was in London. I had virtually no personal space, sleeping in my brother’s spare room and, in the last week, on a friend’s living room floor. You can’t escape in London. I like people, and it is nice to have human contact (even if it’s just seeing familiar faces on the commute to and from work), but it grinds me down. I have led a fairly solitary life – I had few friends at school, and never saw them outside office hours, only really developing social skills at Sixth Form. My brother left home when I was in my teens (my sister left much earlier), and my dad has been absent for a long time, so I have effectively been an only child with a single parent, in a large family home. I’m used to having rooms and rooms of space, hearing and seeing only my mum, people in shops and on the street. At university we lived communally, or course. But you always had a room to retreat to, and terms were so short you spent more time at home than at college. No, really London was much more cramped than anywhere I’ve lived before. Even the holiday I took this year (Sydney on a budget) wasn’t an escape, as I shared an 8-person dormitory (that regularly housed 9 or more!).

So coming home has been a release, but also a bit of a shock. I love my space, the ability to not have to worry about the amount of noise I make, to not have to wash my hair every day if I don’t want to, to be much more flexible in my hours, to watch whatever I want on television, even. Actually, I don’t watch much telly – and what I do watch, I get through the internet, mostly. Mind you, I didn’t even have my own computer in London, so I was very restricted in my favourite medium. I would say I am much more settled here at home, but I recognise it’s not all a bed of roses. So I go out, partly through habit, but partly (and this is how I justify it to myself mainly) to connect with humanity. The gay scene isn’t the friendliest place in the world, whatever the general perception, but it is at least full of familiar faces, and feels comfortable and usually safe. And if I am out with one or more friends, all the better.

No, it’s not the isolation, but the disempowerment of poverty that has been getting to me. Much of the time, I can’t just buy things (even basic things) without weighing their cost against essentials. Even essentials become a source of worry – can I justify fruit? Vegetables even? When things get really tight, as they are now, I live off 17p instant noodles, 28p value tuna flakes, 50p crab sticks if I’m pushing the boat out. Ultra-cheap protein, and starchy carbs (rice is good, pasta an indulgence), but fresh food is simply too dear. I mean, a punnet of strawberries can be anything from £1.66 (on offer) to £3+, which equates to a lot of noodles. It’s sad, but those are the choices I have to make. Of course, put that next to £1.50 a drink in a bar (mid week), and you might say I have double standards – well, I do. But I would rather go without food for a day and h

ave a night out than never socialise at all.

I could get a job, well, I could have. Not now – I am going with my mum to see my sister and her family, probably next week, so that puts things back by another couple of weeks. And I would never have done anything at all around the house if I had started working straight away – I know that from last year’s experience. The problem is, I am now terrified of returning to work. Having worked for 2 1/2 years, I now feel very guilty indeed for not doing so this summer (I never worked during school or uni holidays, and never thought twice about it), but having given up for 2 months, I already feel totally divorced from the process, and my recent bad experiences have made me wary. Plus, I love not having to work – I genuinely despise selling my time, given that I have never worked for anything but the money (such as it was). If I could walk into a job that held some interest for me (assuming there is such a thing), that would be another matter, but I am only qualified to do what I hate. So I’m stalling.

Meanwhile, the chores aren’t getting done…