Friday 27 May 2011

Text Wars

I’m considering boycotting text messaging. It is yet another potential situation for embarrassment, confusion and generally doing the wrong thing. Especially since this skattiness I seem to have acquired since the onset of motherhood.

I remember when text messages and mobiles (‘mobile’ being used in the loosest sense of the word, given that you needed a wheelie bag to cart the thing around such was it’s size and weight. Yes, I’m that old) came out, you only got about 59 characters, and you couldn’t run onto more than one text. That was when text speak was actually necessary. These days some of my texts are so epic that they regularly run into over ten texts, at which point my phone decides it’s a picture message and therefore not part of my inclusive text allowance. Hence why, despite having unlimited texts, my mobile bill is usually more than the contracted amount. Shhhh, don’t tell the man.

It has become the norm to text rather than ring someone, even though, in the long run, texting doesn’t save any time. My best friend and I used to talk for hours a day on the phone, and since we have become busier we have started texting. A lot. But this is actually a totally false economy. I can do pretty much anything with the phone wedged between my ear and shoulder, but I can’t text and do something at the same time. It takes a lot more coordination to text someone, not only in finger movements but also thinking about what to put so it comes out right. I could probably save myself a good hour or so a day if we rang each other instead.

If you’re not careful text messaging can be pretty ambiguous. Because they are designed to be fast and efficient, it is very easy to come across clipped or overly abrupt. Using short sentences and words which would be frankly rude in every day conversation seems to be acceptable in a text message. And to get emotion or emphasis, apart from a simple smiley, wink, sad face or tongue out :-p there isn’t a lot you can do. We can say something verbally and just with our intonation the receiver knows you are joking, text messages not so much. It’s that age old situation “it’s not what you said, it’s the way you said it.” It’s so easy to read too much into a simple one sentence text, more angst and confusion caused by the “but what did they actually mean by that?” internal debate. A misplaced ellipsis, capital letters (SHOUTING) too long, too short, could all spell out double meaning or vagueness. The simple answer is to pick up the phone and find out. Slightly missing the point of texting in the first place.

Besides, you can’t ring someone at 3 o’clock in the morning. Texting is a lot more socially acceptable after hours.

Then there’s the signing off debate. 98% of the time putting a kiss at the end of your text message is kind of law, it’s expected and, I often feel, rude not to. But sometimes putting a kiss at the end seems highly inappropriate. However it feels a bit abrupt to not put a kiss. So texting takes even longer while you deliberate whether or not the recipient would consider it rude or unfriendly not to punctuate the text message with a kiss. As I don’t tend to text in a professional capacity I don’t really know what the form is (although this situation has started to come up a bit recently when texting people for quotes for articles), so I end up putting an awkward little smiley. Not quite the same but seems to ‘friendly it up’ a bit, and I just find it physically impossible not to sign off in some way. And if you do decide to put a kiss, how many? In capitals? It’s so easy to come across overly familiar. It’s the whole social kissing thing all over again.

Then there’s the ease with which you can accidentally send a text to the wrong person. Soon after having son number 2, I sent a long and incredibly graphic text message about certain ‘issues’ I was going to see the doctor about that day. Immediately after sending it I realised that I had sent it to a guy I had gone to school with, seen in a pub about five years previously and swapped numbers (and then had never got in touch), instead of my mum as I had intended it. Thankfully he was a gentleman about it and never replied, but the embarrassment and mortification lives on, and will do forever more. Needless to say I now check, and double check, the recipient before hitting send. The possibilities for embarrassment are endless, especially with sexy texting, or having a secret bitch about someone. Whoops, sent it to my boss instead of my best friend or the man. Explain your way out of that one using text speak.

But texting can be pretty exciting. That beep beep or BRRRRING noise which announces the arrival of a text gives that same feeling of excitement as when you hear the thud of the post on the mat and you receive and unexpected and un-bill-like looking letter through the post... Ooh who could be texting me? And what do they want? Enthusiasm only dampened when it’s a boring message from your operator saying your bill is ready to view (does anyone actually view it?) or saying coverage will be disrupted in your area while they attempt to improve services (never seems to make any difference to me).

On the face of it, texting is a great and convenient way to communicate but in reality it is just another way of confusing our already busy and complicated lives. Multitasking has become the norm. Bring back the phone, I say. Those big old rotary ones which had one, perfectly acceptable and satisfying, ring tone that could be heard next door, and nice comfortable finger holes for dialling the numbers. Apart from the odd doodle or getting tangled up in the curly cord (totally cutting the circulation to your finger tips off because you were coming up with a new way of curling it round your fingers, wouldn’t be allowed today because of health and safety issues) you had to actually concentrate on the person you were talking to, and therefore the scope for confusion and embarrassment were much diminished. And you had to sit down. They were simpler, safer, times.

Monday 23 May 2011

Stuff

There is a huge black hole not just in my house, but more than likely yours too, it sucks out time and energy and leaves nothing but hard work in its wake. And the black hole is stuff.

Yesterday, the man and me spent the entire day on stuff management, having got totally overwhelmed by the amount of stuff that seems to have taken over our house. A year ago we moved from a 2 bedroom flat with no garden to a 3 bed house with a large garden, so excited were we at the space we would have. We bemoaned that we had nothing to put in our garden, yet a year on it looks positively white trash. Discarded toys and tools litter the patio because they won’t fit in one of our two (yes, two) sheds. And the loft which we had been so wide-eyed about is already a disorganised jumble of stuff, there may be the odd useful item up there but mostly, it’s just crap. I ended the day with a bank statement bonfire, over ten years worth of bank statements that I had been saving, it created quite a blaze. Why save them? Would I have spent time in the future wistfully recollecting my irresponsible spending habits?

It has been drummed into me since I was a child that you do not throw things away in case they come in handy later on. Any packaging receptacle must be fully examined and potential alternative uses considered before it is allowed to go into recycling.

I’ve always had a problem with stuff. I come from a family of hoarders and despite feeling like I’m constantly chucking stuff out, this other person, who looks suspiciously like me, keeps on bringing stuff back in. There are clothes dribbling out of drawers onto the floor and peeping out of half closed wardrobe drawers. Our bedroom looks like a Dali landscape. There are health and safety issues too. My Tupperware cupboard is frankly dangerous, old ice cream tubs catapult themselves out making a bid for freedom, before I spend ten minutes looking for the one thing I needed, then wrestling them all back in, skinning my knuckles in the process. But I have so much that I can’t find what I need, so I buy new stuff. Essential purchasing.

They say you should only keep stuff you really need, really love or are seriously sentimental about. But how do you define need? We might not need it now but possibly will in the future. Some of the stuff serves a purpose too. I have a pair of jeans which I wore comfortably ten years ago, when I can fit them comfortably again I will know I am at a point where I can be happy about my body. Not to actually be able to wear them you understand (they are not nice), they’re just for gauging purposes.

I absolutely adore those articles in magazines where they take one pair of jeans and a white t-shirt and show you how you can create 100 different outfits from them, including something for the opera and a formal work outfit. My ultimate goal in life would be having something that could be described as a capsule wardrobe.

But being disorganised but also a (albeit genetically and against my better judgement) hoarder, susceptible to every new craze going AND a shopaholic, is not a good combo for harmonious living.

Imagine how easy life would be if you only had one of everything. One glass that had to be washed before someone else could use it. One book, one DVD, one CD… everyone could have something different and could practise compulsory swapping. I think it sounds blissful. And I know the kids would be fine, they insist on watching the same film over and over and OVER again, until even I am absentmindedly mouthing the words along to it. I just need to get the man on board (after this weekend I think he could be convinced).

It’s not just the hard stuff. It’s the perishables too. I blame my mother. When I was growing up her cupboards were always busting full, but she would still find little crevices where she could just squeeze in another tin of peaches, or different shape of pasta to add to her collection. And I am now exactly the same. If we had a nuclear war I would be able to feed my entire family (and probably a few neighbours too) for at least one month. My freezer, fridge and cupboards are positively groaning under the weight of food, yet I still manage to find a reason to go to the supermarket almost every other day (usually to get random ingredients for a recipe which I will never use again). I get kind of panicky if I can shut a cupboard door without difficulty. I tell you, I think it’s an illness.

We’re in the midst of the worst recession ever, yet consumer culture has never been so huge. So despite being skint, we’re told we need more stuff. The acquisition of stuff has become something we do for fun, not necessity. And I know that all this stuff is yet another thing that is sapping my ever precious time and energy.

I have to wean myself off this stuff obsession, starting with a food thrift week. I am going to attempt to avoid the supermarket and just use up what I’ve got. It might make for some rather strange dinners but I am creative. Now, what can I make with soy flour, corn oil and tinned peaches?