Technology, Shelves and Other Self-Pity Bullshit


Tonight has been one of those nights. I tried to log in to the uni website to start marking my students’ work. No dice. Then I tried to download a new version of microsoft office so I could fucking use the goddamn computer like an actual person but I could not. I have not done anything ridiculous and am not massively retarded. I just cannot get these things to work. Much like the jar of marmalade I cannot open, yet cannot employ usual “stab a sharp knife into the lid” technique (hark single women everywhere! this is what you can do to a bottle of pasta sauce that denies your best efforts with a tea-towel) because I don’t want it to spoil. No marmalade on toast for you, biatch.

selfp

I’m not stupid but I’m fucking angry. At my idiot self. I try like a motherfucker all the time to do all the things alone that other people might take for granted because they have family, extended family, etc etc etc to help them. It is at times like these when who/what/where I am comes back to bite me. My super-awesome cousins are not here. My Dad is not here. My sister is not here. I have no partner who can bloody well do it for me. I don’t have his brothers or cousins or mates who owe him a favour. I feel like specifically asking someone to come over and move/lift/fix something for me is a massive horrid imposition that I could and should not make.

I have some lovely, lovely friends but I feel terrible imposing on them and their partners for help that everyone else manages to get without troubling me (although, unless its grammar, I’m basically of no use). So if a thing doesn’t work I can either a) send out a slightly sadface FB plea (just done that, through tears of injustice and frustration at being such a useless muppet b) pay for someone to do it, which I cannot afford as I am now a freelancer with precious little freelancing and a brain that wants me to throw myself into the nearest body of water or c) cry. I have done A and B.

I hate, hate HATE it when I come across obstacles I can’t overcome because it’s not in my skillset. I HATE asking people whose job it most definitely is not to help me. I wish my stupid brain was capable of changing a tyre, checking oil, wiring a plug, making a computer work, hooking up a stereo to five other appliances, but I’m not.

I hate asking for help. I hate acknowledging my weaknesses. I hate the fact I have nothing useful to give in return apart from drinks and paying for dinner.

It’s times like these I feel terribly alone and useless and stupid. All the memorised poetry in the world and quotes from books in the Canon and knowing Shakespeare’s lesser-known plays and explaining to 18-year-olds how commas should be used (in pairs, unless in a list) or how preferential voting works can’t save me from the basic impracticalities of my stupid bloody life.

I’ve made my bed. I’m lying in it. But it sucks. A lot. So maybe I will throw money at the problem. If anyone knows someone who will be on call for technological issues, vague comforting scenarios, practical abilities, ego-building, dealing with my strata, shelves, jars, things in high places and will not cost the earth, do call. Because I’ll only be sitting here clutching my credit card, weeping into my couch. Goddammit.

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About ohhellwhatthehell

I like gin, mittens and otters, not necessarily in that order. Here's some stuff I felt like writing down when I'm not chained to a desk writing other things for a living. Please use caution when using this site; there may be sweary words, cute animals and general bullshit. Don't say I didn't fucking warn you.
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