Putting the 'Crass' in 'Procrastinate'*

* also the 'ass' and the 'tin'

I am meant to be packing everything I own into suitcases, making lists of what is in the suitcases, taking things to the Salvation Army and booking a ferry ticket.

Am I doing this? No, no I am not. I am sitting on the couch reading Internet comics. Not even very good Internet comics. My brain is refusing to acknowledge that I am moving cities on the day after tomorrow and that at some point before this packing will need to be done. Perhaps I will have a sandwich and see if I am any more inspired.

I am inspired! Hurrah! I am inspired to have another sandwich.

Yawn.

Yes, life is exciting. Yes, I am moving cities and getting a new job and bought a great pair of red boots the other day on sale but I am still really bored. I suspect it’s work, which is slowing down hugely coming up to Christmas. I have about 20 things to do today (normally I have about 80), and none of them are things that I particularly want to do or have any interest in doing. Sadly, this is my job (for another three weeks, anyway) and so the things have to be done, but…I am bored.

Obviously.

As per usual, lunch is going to be the highlight of my day – am going to nice Asian place (same one as last week) with three work friends (same ones as last week). Every time I go there, I think “Ooh, today I’m going to have something different, not the teriyaki squid,” and toss up between about five menu options and irritate the rest of the table by vocalising every swing of my indecision. Then the waitress (am not being sexist, they don’t seem to have any boy wait staff), who inevitably has horrible bitten-to-the-quick nails with chipped polish (pet hate), comes over and says “Are you ready to order,” and everyone else is and I am not and so I panic and shout “Squid! Teriyaki squid!” and then spend the next twenty minutes being annoyed with myself for not branching out. Then the squid arrives and it is as delicious as ever, and I am reassured. This is exactly the same behaviour I exhibit every time I go out for brunch (“Hmm, pancakes…but then they also have smoked salmon on potato cakes…” “Are you ready to-” “Eggs Benedict! Eggs Benedict!”) and every time I go to Subway (“Hmm, maybe I would like the Steak and Cheese sub today, or maybe…” “What would you-” “Gah! Chicken fillet on white with Swiss cheese and just lettuce and olives and ranch and honey mustard dressing and a little bit of salt and pepper! Fresh!”). But not today, no sir – today I will make a foray into the culinary jungle. (“Teriyaki squid!”)

Had a dream last night that a Christchurch-based friend and I were madly in love and also kind of guerrilla fighters attempting to overcome an army of machine insects. We fought off these glowing insect Transformer-esque monsters in a video-game setting (as you do - very nuclear sunrise) and then went to a black-tie ball and danced for hours. Seriously, we rocked. Reality is boring. Was thinking of emailing Christchurch friend and telling them about this but a) other people’s dreams are boring, even when you’re in them and b) am pretty sure they’d take it the wrong way and actually try to become futuristic robo-vigilante love interest. This would be a little inappropriate, although interesting.

Wow, the nail on my left hand little finger sure has got long. As have my toenails. I should really cut them.

My workmate Kristy wanted to be mentioned in this post I believe – sorry, Kristy, to give the toenails higher billing than you, but they are pretty freakin’ long (and gross). Kristy has just walked past and said “Am I in it?” (Stop nagging me, bitch.) She knows I’m writing a post because about ten minutes ago she emailed me and said, ‘You know what you should write another blog’ (or something like that, I deleted the email), and I replied all like ‘Oh do you know what I am doing right now.’ Obviously we are joined at the mind. Kristy is going to have to help me order something different at lunch today. I hope she is prepared for this.

Moving update: moving all my stuff via moving company is a lot cheaper than I thought, only about $200. When I remember the name of the moving company, I will pimp it. Whatever that means.

Gotta put some wheels in motion

And no, not in a Vengaboys way, although that was a pretty good song when I was however old I was when it was released. I am getting Organised to move cities – the more I do this, the less I can be bothered and the more tempting it is to stay here and not have to do any of the following things:
- find job agency in Christchurch
- book ferry tickets
- start to think about packing things
- resign self to living with parents
- deal with Christchurch weirdos making bizarre emotional demands
and so on. The good news is that I will no longer be living with someone who doesn’t pay the power bill, which is in my name – but let’s not talk about that or I shall become Angry, and I spent about half an hour this morning being Angry and it wasn’t any fun, so I am not going to do it again.

I wish travelling wasn’t so expensive…I either have to pay for Dad to bring himself and the car across on the ferry ($220 each way (!) and that’s not including me) and then petrol to Christchurch, or I have to throw out about half my possessions. Or make two trips – one by plane in the next couple of weeks, and then one by ferry then bus when I move properly. I really need to get sorted. It’s sooner than I think. Anyone with bright ideas about how to transport everything I own, please leave note in Comments section. Also, anyone who feels like a wee ferry trip to Picton and back in early January and is happy to a) pay for themselves and b) take my home on their back, also please leave comment.

Maybe I should just throw/give away everything that isn’t absolutely essential (i.e. clothes I never wear, books I read once and won’t reread)? I could probably pare it down to 4 or so suitcases and that would be alright to do in one ferry trip. I think. If I had a trolley waiting at the terminal, and was prepared to briefly rely on the kindness of strangers when the trolley fell over and I was left teary and tugging futilely at an enormous suitcase which was refusing to right itself, and my bus was leaving in two minutes and I was still in the terminal building. God I hate travelling.

Actually, total lie – I love travelling. It is moving that I hate. I might see how much stuff I can get rid of, starting tonight. I am far too much of a hoarder anyway. Goodbye, useless things! Farewell, materialistic trappings of life! Hello, monastic, minimalist existence! Ew. I like stuff. Even stuff like clothes I never wear and books I’ve read once and won’t reread. This is no fun.

Ditherrrr.

I am a terrible decision-maker. I have spent most of the morning thinking stressfully about Moving to Christchurch (Is it a Bad Decision?) and am now grouchy at myself for doing so. It's only 'cause the weather's lovely and Sister Flatmate and I have planted a vege garden (we got really over-excited at the garden centre yesterday and bought far more plants than we have space for - we have tomatoes, and basil, and lettuce, and zucchini, and eggplant, and beetroot and a rose bush, and a miniature rose which I have planted in a pot so that I can take it back to Chch with me).
But yes. I am not very good at not second-guessing myself.

Or am I???

Garden is lovely, if a bit haphazard & ever so slightly amateur. Yesterday our landlord came round and cleared a long bit of, um, dirt (not sure why, but not complaining). This afternoon we planted everything (by which I mean I did the actual planting while Sister Flatmate, who is sick, sat on a beanbag in the sun and gave me directions) & now we're just waiting for it to grow. I am now feeling very nurturing and wholesome and earthy. My fingernails are disgusting. I hope not everything dies. I feel the rose bush may have been a little ambitious.

Work party was good fun - and I was well behaved! For me. My inner drunkard is sneering at me and saying, "What happened, man? You've changed. You used to be cool."

Oh man I have to stop going backwards and forwards about this whole moving thing. I'm behaving like one of those little desk toys with the silver balls on the strings - you know, the ones where you pick up the end one and let it go and it hits the other four - bonkbonkbonkbonk - and then the one on the opposite end flicks out, and it can go back and forth for hours? Yes. I am exactly like that. BonkbonkbonkbonkGAH! Bonkbonkbonkbonk. Sigh.

I have also been eating a lot recently. I suspect that since I quit band my subconscious has felt the need for a new hobby, and has lit upon constant eating. I am eating my bonus! I am going to become a chubster. Abject poverty much better for figure, she said as she tucked into her second pre-dinner tuna sandwich. Mmm delicious.

Na Na Hey Hey

I am a logistical problem. Well. Moving me is a logistical problem. Moving all my stuff is a logistical problem. When I complain about moving, everyone says helpfully, "Oh, but you have hardly any furniture!" True, but do you know how much stuff I have? Piles and piles of things that I've accumulated over the years, most of which I don't need, and which will translate into piles and piles of cardboard boxes which need to be taken from city to city. Sometimes I wish I had a private jet. Actually that is most of the time.

Right now I am meant to be doing grown-up things like cleaning the house and paying the bills and unpacking from the weekend but actually what I am doing is reading a crappy novel and watching Friends and Thinking About Life.

Work Christmas party is this Friday (it is now Wednesday). It's one of three work Christmas parties (excessive I know, but they are free and I'm not complaining) and it's fancy dress. I have very mixed feelings about fancy dress parties for the following reasons -

1. they are more expensive than regular parties because the costume must be bought/hired/constructed (and yes it must, because there is no higher insult to everyone you know than to not wear fancy dress to a fancy dress party)

2. there's always a fine line between 'awesome costume' and 'trying too hard.' This line also branches off to visit 'great costume which makes you look like a troll.' Which is theoretically fine and dandy as I am not attempting to initiate a work romance (although according to past experience apparently sometimes you don't even need to do that much), but still not ideal. Which leads me to -

I just misheard an ad for some toothpaste or other, and it said, "Recommended by Dentists!" and for a solid second or so I totally thought it was "Recommended by Jesus!" which would surely be the ultimate in celebrity endorsement. Anyway, that wasn't what I was going to say, I was going for -

4. girls who wear an outfit in which theme takes a firm second place to sluttiness - these people annoy me. Mainly because I know I couldn't pull it off, but that is beside the point. Surely they annoy everyone, not just me? With the possible exception of the gentlemen.

5. there is always that one guy who wears something completely inappropriate and makes everyone except his irritating friends feel uncomfortable. I won't refer to him by his real name in order to protect his privacy; instead I shall call him Richard the Twat. (Not his real name.) At the last party RtT wore a skintight lycra suit and was a drunken tosser and tried to chat up many females (and possibly males) and was met with a mixture of amusement, disdain and nausea. Mainly nausea. He's going to be exactly the same at this party, except instead of the lycra bodysuit he'll be in a small strip of leopard-print material and a G-string (it is a Heroes and Villains party and he is going as Tarzan). Ew! Ew ew ew! Sorry about the rant, but I don't like him anyway and his mammoth ego does not help. Perhaps I shall get drunk and accidentally kick him in the balls.

So yes - fancy dress party. The good things are that I have a costume which I like (photos after party) and none of my 'pod' (or, in fact the surrounding pods (or, in fact, the rest of the company)) are going to do any work on Friday. As opposed to the whacking great amount of work that we do anyway.

I am going to have a nana nap now and wake up in time for Prison Break, and probably forget to put the rubbish out. And then tomorrow I resign! Scary. But good, 'looking into the future,' scary, not bad, 'Richard the Twat in a Tarzan outfit' scary. Ew. I hope my career prospects never resemble RtT. Figuratively or otherwise.

Movin' on Up (or down if we are being geographically accurate)

Well, Christchurch was an interesting three days.

Grandmother, clothes swap party and camping trip were all better than expected.
Managed to deflect grandmotherly enquiries about My Life by blurting out things like "So what did you think of the elections," and "There's a cat in your garden," (there was) and, in desperation, "How far into the turkey do you put the stuffing," every time a sensitive subject was neared. It was pretty effective, although my mother was not overly impressed, particularly with the turkey query. It was totally relevant! I have to cook one at Christmas! Hmph.

(Incidentally, you shove the stuffing all the way up - the ribcage stops it. I know you were wondering.)

Camping was good - put the tent up properly first time! This is completely unprecedented in my family (and, to my knowledge, also in the families of everyone else I know, except for those weird outdoorsy type families. You know the ones. They have a bach and go skiing all the time). Camping was with my little sister, and we sometimes have a um slightly volatile friendship, but we managed to avoid all arguments! Well, until we were taking down the tent and, after I spent ten minutes rolling it up while Little Sister leant against the car and txt her horrid boyfriend, tent would not fit in tent bag. Well. It would, but tent bag wouldn't close when tent was in, and apparently that is a completely vital part of tent putting-away. (Bollocks!) So I said "All right, if it's so important that tent bag will close then you can do it because I am not going to do it again," and it was all downhill from there. But apart from that camping was good fun!

Clothes swap party was great – met Andrea’s friends (all of whom were remarkably pleasant), ate a lot of biscuits and snagged myself several nice items of clothing, including these pants which I am wearing right now. You can’t see them, but they’re there. On my legs.

We shall draw a veil over the things that did not go so well (family arguments and reunions that would’ve been better left as…non-reunions. Estrangements, perhaps. Nothing like a nice reunion to make you realise why you never see someone.) I also hate the way that a long weekend always drives home how insanely crazy angry your job makes you. It may be because I got up at 5am to get on a plane, but I keep feeling like I’m about to fall asleep on my desk and dribble all over my paperwork (best use for it). People keep saying “Oh, you look tired,” which we all know is just a polite way to say “Oh, you look like you have been dragged through a bush backwards.” Am going to a tea tasting evening tonight – joined the loyalty club of my favourite tea shop - and they will be giving us little edible nibbly things and hot teas and iced teas and their 'famous Christmas tea.' Tragically, all I am interested in doing is going home and sleeping.

I’ve decided that I am going to move to Christchurch. I know I have been swinging wildly back and forth on this, not unlike – I was going to make a political metaphor but I don’t really understand how swing states work – but I have Decided. Move home. Save money. Work is not a problem as I can sort myself with an agency while I’m still here, and start temping more or less as soon as I arrive in the Garden City.

So far announcement of moving plan has got mixed reactions; excitement (from my little sister and Andrea, who I like because they can always be relied upon to look forward to Me), tentative excitement (from my mother and other family members, who say things like ‘well that would be lovely of course but only if you’re sure it’s the right thing for you'), mixture of happiness and faint irritation (Sister Flatmate, who wants me to be happy but feels slighted), and total silence (Christchurch based group of friends, who will no doubt give me a mixture of enthusiasm and trepidation ("Yay, we can drink all the time!" "Are you bringing back that umbrella you borrowed?" and, my personal favourite from That Friend Who Thinks They Know Your Very Soul But Has Probably Forgotten Your Birthday Again, “Are you doing this for the right reasons?” This must be delivered with an air of suspicion and, when you reply with a firm "Yes I am," a "hmm" of total disbelief).

Am not sure how actual logistics of moving will work. Sainted Mother has offered to help but only as far as Picton, because taking her car on the ferry would be hideously expensive. Hideously expensive as opposed to, oh, I don’t know, getting a moving van? Hmph. Don’t know how much moving vans cost. Am currently trying to think of friends with vans who I might be able to bribe into helping me move – but I can’t think of any friends with vans that I want to be stuck in a van with for 8 hours.

Am off to get a midafternoon gelato with colleague as am running out of steam somewhat. I wonder if there is gelato in Christchurch? I may have to rethink this moving plan.