Ohhhhhmmmmmmmm

I was really struggling with what to write today. But, totally determined not to leave it til the last minute as I have so often done these last few weeks and not at all procrastinating (honest), I started googling what to write in a blog post and came across something called Zen writers. Totally intrigued, I delved further and decide to download one called Ohmwriter. I installed it, not really knowing what it was (Big Bro often complains when he goes on my laptop that its full of all manner of tat, extra search bars, random programmes making the whole system struggle, I do get a bit one click download happy). So anyway, I downloaded it, clicked to open the program and all of a sudden my entire desktop was gone, replaced with a snowy scene, plinky music and nothing but a simple blinking cursor. Wow, what a revelation. No distracting Chrome icon at the bottom of my screen just begging me to check Facebook, no myriad of buttons on Word whispering silently  "click me click me, you know you want to know what I do" (invariably drawing a massive arrow on the screen or deleting everything), and no clock at the bottom of the screen reminding you of what you should be doing right now (or worse still that it's 745pm in the evening, you're 34 and watching the Crystal Maze with more than a touch of nostalgia, you're 34 for chrissake, and this is 2012 not 1991). Word has much improved since it got rid of that annoying paper clip popping up every five minutes to say "Hey! It looks like you're writing a letter, can I help you with that?" Well yes I am and no thank you I'm not a moron, now eff off. But still there are things about it that are distracting. Bright red lines alerting me to typos, and green ones that say a sentence doesn't make sense, when clearly it does (argue all you like but grammar is subjective, I am allowed to use colloquialisms, ok?). I would rather just be able to get on with the job in hand rather than be repeatedly alerted to my shortcomings. Word can be rather judgemental. So I am loving my new Zen Writer, it could be a new thing for me (just need to force myself to switch off The Crystal Maze and I'd be all set). But I really wish we could get a similar thing for all other areas of life...

Zen Driver, totally capable of wiping out all noise and movement from the backseat, as well as the distractions of other drivers. No kicking seat backs, no "are we there yet?", no annoying twats driving so far up your bum they may as well hitch themselves directly to your tow bar and definitely no "Mummy, he looked at meeeeeeeee!" . Just a nice peaceful driving environment, bliss.

Zen School Run, available for both morning and afternoon runs, attaches all necessary bags and boomf to each relevant child before leaving the house in the morning (thereby avoiding the “Mummy you forgot my kit and I had to do football in my plimsolls” whine), and extricates random sticks and weapons without said child noticing and therefore avoiding an entire school run of "but I neeeeeeeed my light sabeeeeeeeeeeer". Similarly Zen School Run would also be capable of unpacking the two week holidays worth of luggage at the end of the day, while simultaneously dealing with stereo cries of "I need a drink",  "I need to make something",  "My foot hurts" and the ever present "he looked at me". Just allowing you sixty seconds of peace in which to have a wee and stick the kettle on.

Zen "it may look like I'm listening to you but really I'm replaying Friends The One With The Candy Hearts in my head" complete with automatic "mmmhmmmms", head nods and serious face where appropriate.

Zen Life, only for hardcore Zenists. Completely and entirely wipes out all of life’s extra "noise" as in news we don't need to hear about, things we don't need to know about but invariably are told, but more importantly random thoughts that plague our every waking moment, usually about things we don't need to be told and news we don't need to know about. I have had been suffering more than a few mental wrangles in recent weeks over the Jimmy Savile saga, do I really need to know every detail? Why does news really exist? Do we really need to know all this? Does it help the victims that I know about it? Does it help me? If I don't need to know about it why is it all over the news and why am I listening to it? I have spent many a long night recently thinking about this very question. Surely I should really be asleep, or the very least worrying about things that really do affect me such as what I am going to feed the kids tomorrow and I really need to buy more toilet paper or we're back on the kitchen roll again.

There is so much noise in our daily lives, and it comes at us from all angles. Our kids, the media, family, friends, if only there was a way to get peace when we need it and only focus on the stuff that really mattered, maybe we would all be a little less stressed.

Yep I'm loving my new Zen Writer, I just wish I could flip a switch and have some peace in other areas of my life; when the kids are driving me insane, be able to have them curled into me all sleepy and sweaty, not caring about the news or the lack of bog roll, just focussing on how gorgeous they are.

Final edit: having written this post completely on my new Ohmwriter, I am convinced. Although there is a sound of a drip at every keystroke which initially was enjoyable but has made me need a wee, and I have got so into writing that the Crystal Maze has now finished. Bugger. 

Commitment Phobe

So I’ve been checking my finances and I’m at the point where literally every penny counts. The last time things were this tight there were just the two of us, living mortgage and virtually bill free in Spain and happy to live off the free vodka we got at work and the odd baguette. Clearly I cannot feed my kids on free vodka (even if I could get my hands on it) and bread, and I no longer live mortgage free, so I need to find some way to add to the funds or me and the dudes will be eating out (and by out I mean out of the in-laws freezer) for the foreseeable future.

Before someone pipes up with “why not just get a job?” I have two arguments against that in my circumstances. One, the job market is bad enough for those who have been in employment constantly, and this does not bode well for a graduate who has been technically unemployed for ten years. Two, and most importantly, if I wanted a boring old job where I did the same thing every day I’d be doing it right now. (Besides, I don’t want anything interfering with my volunteering at the bookshop, I have found something that really means something to me and when you find something that enriches your life to that extent, no matter that you don’t get paid, you don’t let it go. Kinda like this blog I suppose).

I have known I wanted to write since I was five years old and I found the tiny wing of some poor deceased creature (probably a fly, but I believed it came from a fairy) in a bunch of grapes and wrote a book about it. By book I mean five pages of an old exercise book, self illustrated, with finger spaces. But I have also always known that until I do a JK Rowling or EL James (which will happen one day I am sure of it) I need to make money some other way.

The trouble is, I’m not short of ideas. There was the spray on bra idea that I came up with The Dad about ten years ago, after I’d spent yet another fruitless shopping expedition looking for the perfect strapless and backless bra to go with a dress I had planned to wear. The idea is you put your arms in the air (or stand on your head or lie down depending on which way your boobs look best), someone sprays the stuff on you, which dries like a firm second skin, when you put your arms down your boobs stay in place, then when you have finished with it you simply peel it off and throw it away. A genius idea in theory, the answer to the prayers of many women all over the world, but we had no idea how to go about formulating the stuff (funnily enough neither of us have any knowledge or experience in chemical plastics or textiles) and didn’t know where to go to get it started. So we got as far as handwriting a non-disclosure contract (a contract which I am technically now breaking I suppose, whoops), before going back to our normal lives. For the record, if someone now brings out a spray on bra, I want it to be noted that you heard it here first.

Then there was the lottery. A three way syndicate where we each put in fifty quid and asked for one hundred and fifty lucky dip tickets from the bemused lottery assistant. We had a big envelope stuffed as full of hopes and dreams as it was lottery tickets. The big night arrived and our numbers came up to the tune of one hundred and ten pounds. Refusing to cut our losses and run, we “reinvested” our winnings and lost the lot. It was a washout, but had we won, we’d have been very smug millionaires (to be fair, I expect all millionaires are pretty smug).

These were just two (of the tamest) ideas I have come up with over the years to make money. I don’t want much. I don’t want big cars, and I love the house I have. I don’t need expensive holidays and I like getting stuff second hand, there is nothing like the buzz of a bargain. But what I do need is time. I just need enough money to buy myself time to write and bring up my kids. I don’t even care about being famous, I just want enough money to give me the time to do what I believe I was put here to do.

So anyway, despite my creative cup runneth over with ideas that I have no doubt could make money in theory, I have never followed through with any of them (except the lottery, which had a one in 14 million chance of winning, I don’t have the maths to say how much we upped our odds by buying 150 tickets, but I’d say not enough to make it a safe bet). And the reason why I never followed through with them is because I am a commitment phobic.

I just never had the guts to take one idea, just one, and run with it. Because I always worry that a better idea may come along. On top of that, there are always plenty of people to say “Oh that’s impossible”, “normal people don’t do things like that”, “you couldn’t do that”, “you’ll change your mind and have another idea in two days” or (and here’s the biggie) “It’s destined to fail”.

But I can argue against every one of their reasons: I like a challenge, I’m not normal, I can do anything I set my mind to thank you very much (except maybe win the lottery), yes I will have another idea and there is nothing stopping me doing that one too, and none of us like failure. But I would far rather be the person who tries and fails than the one who never tried at all. So why am I not a millionaire by now?

Fortune favours the brave, and my commitment phobia stems from a simple lack of balls. And I can't afford to stay ball-less any more, it’s time I grew a pair. So I am going to start committing to some of my ideas and you never know, one or two of them may well take off. If anyone wants to develop a spray on bra, get your people to call my people, I’ll commit.