Another Luddite bites the dust?

Some of you will already know that I am not the most forward of people. Technology is not necessarily evil, but it isn't necessarily good, either.  And some of you will be familiar with the fact that I don't have a mobile phone. I wouldn't know how to send a text message. And I have been almost proud of it.

I do have a mobile lying around. One my parents fobbed off on me when dad got a new one. It isn't in my name, and I only take it with me when I am going to the mainland for appointments on my own, or when going off to visit a friend. And it only gets used to say "I have arrived" and "I'll be taking this ferry; can you pick me up" and "I'm delayed". It gets fed some money and then I can phone. I don't even know how to feed it.

This is going to change.

First of all, there are perhaps a few things I need to explain about why I have been so anti-mobile phone.

To me, a mobile has meant a yuppie. Yes, those smart and fancy dudes during the nineties, who flashed their mobiles given half an opportunity to show off. I have never understood them. And I have not wanted to be mistaken for one. And I guess I missed the point in time when mobiles went from being yuppie status symbols to being a useful tool.

Mind you, it's not just the yuppies which have made me regard mobiles as loathsome objects. So have the people who will sit in the bus and phone somebody and inform them that they are on the bus. And not actually have anything else to say. Or the young women who need to discuss the latest activities in the bedroom (or elsewhere) and the qualities of their partner in a train compartment full of people (this has only been the women; I haven't ever overheard any guys do it). Or those who discuss confidential business matters in the rear of the bus in a loud voice.

Like all tools, a thing which can be used can also be abused. That doesn't mean the thing itself is bad. Likewise, it isn't all people who behave like bloody idiots when wielding their phones. This has taken some years to get into my head.

Another reason I haven't wanted one, is because somehow it is assumed everyone has one. And a number of services or functions are only open to people with a mobile. One which has been of hindrance to me has been the annoying issue of buying things over the internet (or more accurately, trying to buy) and being stymied by the final step involving typing in your phone number for a code to be messaged so you can verify it. And no option. I mean, youtube has this step for allowing users to upload videos longer than 15 minutes. But they also have the option of receiving a call with a code.

But the payment system couldn't even do that. They say it's for security measures. So if someone has stolen your card, it is inconceivable they might also have made off with your phone? Or just use a pre-paid phone?

This has annoyed me no end, both on my own behalf but also because there are people, many of them older, who don't have the needs, the money and/or the ability to use a mobile or computer. And so many things are being rigged up to only being accessible via a computer, and now increasingly via a mobile. And only a mobile. And that bugs me. It is still too early to solely go that way. I am among the first to have had contact with computers as a child, and that started when I was in my teens. To demand people several decades older than me to be fully functional is not cricket.

So, why am I now about to jump on the bandwagon?

Well, I am hoping to go to America sometime during the next few years. And I am hoping to go to London this autumn. And I know I can't take the mobile I'm borrowing with me, because it won't work abroad. And being able to call people while travelling is one of the good things a mobile allows. And will make life easier. And I will need time to get used to how it works.

Also, some of the places I like to frequent on the net make use of Instagram for some of their things, and I'd like to be able to join in. So, I am looking in to getting myself a phone. This will take some time, as I am a total newbie. But I will succeed.

And I know one of the questions I need answered is "can you text people on the other side of the world, and does it cost more than normal texting?" Because I may be able to get in touch with friends on a whole different level. And getting in touch with friends is good!

Hooray for builders ...?

Or not, as it were.

I have had renovations to the house two summers running. I had hoped this year would be a peaceful one, without people working on this or that. Well, that isn't going to be. The stable outer walls are not in the best of nick, and I did know they would have to get done soon. Just not this soon.

The bricklayer came by yesterday to have a look. He will be working on an estimate for me, which I hope to have next week. Next week the carpenter will be coming around to look at the doors and windows which need replacing. Then we have to wait for his estimate, before we get a good idea of just what this will add up to.

This all means that I will be having to adjust some of the plans and goals for 2015. Because regardless of how cheap or expensive it will be, and of when they will actually be working here, it is going to sap some of my strength and energy. I know.

At least I don't have to worry massively about the financial aspect. My parents can afford to lend me the money. Even though I hate the fact it is necessary.

My dehoarding focus will probably shift from solely house to include the stable area too. Because that has also been stuffed with all sorts of stuff. If I try to look at this whole thing as positively as possible, this means I will be improving my options for using my stable. I had lots of ideas what I was going to do in that space; practically nothing has been accomplished. Because everywhere is stuffed with things, and there's no space to actually work, and walking about can be tricky.

Some of the dehoarding inside has already had the effect of me being able to access some of my stuff, and have room to start using it. This makes me hopeful that the stable could end up being used more - or at least better - if stuff gets culled. In fact we already did get three boxes of old newspapers out today. Yeah, there's old newspapers in the stable. They were meant to be used as a cheap version of weed sheets. They have been in there for four or five years. Perhaps even longer. They are going to get recycled now. With the repair work going on, and changes to my goals and expectations for this year, they wouldn't be used this year anyway.

I am still not entirely happy that this is going to be happening this summer. But it can't be helped. I am just going to have to grin and bear it, and look for the silver lining.

The post that didn't appear

You may have noticed I didn't post this Tuesday. This is the sort of thing which can happen. I had planned to do my usual "What's in my fridge?" post, and for obvious reasons, well, that has to be done on the same day.

And I did start. And I took a pic. And then technology started breaking down. And then my head fell apart. And the rest of the day was more or less just geared at getting through, keeping myself fed, and just rest, rest, rest.

It is a fact of life that I can start out a day doing fine, and then suddenly it just disintegrates, and being able to string two thoughts together and making sense of them is but a dream. Sometimes there is a trigger, but there doesn't have to be. Yesterday the trigger was camera troubles. I did get them sorted out at the end of the day, but I decided that if this blog is to really give a tangible impression of how my life goes, well, sometimes I won't be posting even if it is scheduled. And I am not going to be ashamed about it. Sad, yes, disappointed, maybe. Ashamed, no.

This has made it clearer to me how important it is to keep a schedule of my blogging, and to try to write a bit every day. This isn't bad, in fact it may be beneficial to me to get the routine in. And having a few finished posts ready so I can use a back-up plan on future days of brain malfunction. Because there will be more. I know it. At least they aren't as frequent as they used to be, nor always as bad.

There are three valuable lessons I learned from what happened Tuesday.

First: planning my blog ahead, and building up a buffer or reserve of posts. It strikes me this isn't merely practical for building a frame/routine for myself, nor for making it possible to post something even on bad days. It would also be helpful for when I plan on going on holiday. And in June and July there will be a need for that. Especially in July when I will be out of internet reach.

Second: I am learning more about technological appliances and computers. I may not always understand how and why, but from believing I had wasted money on a new type of memory card which was useless, I was able to think "What happens if I do X?", and then slowly experiment my way into being able to access the pictures and videos on the card. Even though I am still very much a novice at all this, I am building up a sense of accomplishment and confidence.

Third: Sitting down with one of my colouring books and a box of colour pencils and getting on with them, while either watching a documentary or film or listening to music helps to calm my head, and slowly get it to settle down and start being functional again. I actually knew this already, but it was good to be reminded of it. I need to remember it for the future. It won't cure me, and I might not be able to do anything mentally demanding the rest of the day, but it helps soothe me.

So the post that didn't appear instead spent itself in teaching me a few things. Not bad. And if this helps you see some hidden treasure in your life, better.

Fighting the Hoarder

Some of you already know that I am a hoarder. I don't think I can be said to be a recovering one quite yet. But things are getting easier.

This week, the recycling pick-up guys will have noted an increase in my paper recycling. I have started getting rid of my gardening magazines. I started this particular streak with several years' worth of a BBC gardening magazine, and then continued on the Danish Gardening society mags. Starting with January 1997. Because I have previously managed to get rid of the older ones.

Of course, this doesn't solve the whole issue of hoarding, nor even just the gardening mags. Because I am going through each and every one of them, and tearing out pages or cutting  small bits out. Which are making a rather fair-sized pile all by themselves. At least it is smaller than what's being tossed. I think I have tossed about 15 kgs worth of gardening mags in this round. And there's still a bit left. If we go by my mags, we are now ready for April 2007.

It does help that there was a period of time between 2001 and 2004 where there were no mags. That's when my parents stopped being members, and when I joined. I will probably opt to keep one or two years' worth of magazines, and then get into the habit of sending them off as the new issues arrive. I still haven't decided when I'll go through all the pages I've torn out. And who knows how I am going to store them and be able to find what I'm looking for.

But having reached the point where I can go through them and toss them at all is a major step forward. I have so much paper it isn't funny. Last year I started tossing old calendars, both the monthly wall ones, and the book format yearly ones. I had saved many of the wall calendars because of the pictures. All sorts of adorable animals, and mostly cats. The oldest ones were from 1974. I turned three that year. The student calendars, whether by complete year, or by school year, were all saved from 1985. I tore out the pages from the first one so the paper could be recycled, but I just binned the rest up to 2000. Too much trouble.

For some reason I have got stuck at 2000. I really need to pull up my socks and proceed. There's not much in them anyway.

The largest hurdle by far was getting rid of my (ice) hockey magazines. I had eight to ten complete volumes of The Hockey News, I had eight years of a Swedish magazine, multiple years of several Finnish ones, and then lots of random issues of Canadian and American magazines. I discovered I'd already got rid of the German ones.

And then there was the scrapbook. Since 1985 I had cut out all and any newspaper articles about hockey, and pasted onto paper and put in binders. During a good number of years we actually got three newspapers at home; a Danish, a Finnish and the International Herald Tribune. Plus I grabbed any articles from newspapers I could get my paws on.

It will probably not surprise you to learn that I had fallen way behind on the sticking things in. So I had boxes and boxes of newspaper pages, torn out and small notes about date and paper. And one day I would get it all in order.

I first started thinking about getting rid of them all last autumn. It was a mad thought. It was an evil thought. I forced myself to contemplate it. It took me half a year to bring it up to my parents. It took me some weeks to look for someone who might be interested in them. I failed.

I decided I would have to go the tough way. I gathered them all together. This is what it looked like.

The black packs are all Hockey News, the brown kraft boxes and the binders left of the lamp are scrapbook material, the two piles in front of them are the Finnish mags, and the ones in front of the lamp are the Swedish ones.

If all the mags were stood up in one pile, it would have been about my height. And they weighed 118 kgs. Yes, I weighed them all. One day, dad and I filled up the trailer with the lot and drove to our recycling centre. I stood and stared into the big cavity of the paper container before hurling in pile after pile. I was nauseous. I felt like throwing up. I felt like I was going to faint. It was a physically and mentally draining ordeal. I couldn't do much the next few days.

The worst thing is, because most of them had been stored up in the attic, I don't have a sudden vast empty space to show for it. And I sort of got stuck on continuing by getting rid of my hockey equipment, and looking into what to do about my card collection.

Instead I have managed to focus on the gardening mags. And in part my collection of crafting mags. I think you have noticed a pattern emerge. I have no idea when I slid from merely being a collector to being a hoarder. In fact, I was pretty certain I wasn't a hoarder. Until I read some books on the subject, and then answered some questions. Truthfully. Even then I wasn't really alarmed. That happened when I watched some BBC programmes about hoarders. Who had way more stuff than I do.

What scared me was hearing them say exactly the same things about their stuff that I have been saying about mine. I could tell they were blind to some realities about their stuff and their space.
Could I be blind to some realities myself?

I have now been trying to work on this for more than half a year. It is a bit depressing. I know I have gotten rid of lots of stuff. There just doesn't seem to be visible progress. I guess I have to be more patient. And just keep on. I still haven't reached the point where I can just say "oh, to heck with it!" and toss it. There's still the voice of angst whispering "What if you suddenly miss it next week?"

I am on the right way. I know I need to keep on. I will get there in the end. I am making sure anything that comes into the house is necessary. Or limited in amount. When I reach my 60s, I won't be living in a hoarder show home, I'll be living in a nice, reasonably cluttered home. I don't think I'll ever be a tidy person. But I have seen and heard what could be my fate. And I'm walking down a different road.

Life is funny

As a teenager trying to figure out what to do for a living, I really wanted a job where I'd be making things with my hands. However, the realist (or was it the pessimist?) in me knew that to make a living out of being creative meant heavy competition, having a lot of talent, a lot of good luck, and working hard. The working hard didn't scare me off, but I didn't want to bet too much on my talent and luck. So I opted for the bookish road, and academia, which was not an unpleasing path anyway.

At the end of my university time I had developed another dream, one which involved settling down somewhere in rural Wales, and having a homestead or similar, and being self-sufficient with veg, fruit, meat etc. Again my inner realist knew that it would be a challenge, so better to opt for a job or two in Denmark before taking the leap down onto that path.

And I finally did land a job. Which meant that at the same time my parents were moving to the small island where mum grew up, I was heading for the other end of the country to work. Things started alright, but finally a number of things which had been developing over years caught up with me, and I found myself sidelined by depression. Sick leave helped a bit, but I came back too soon. And various other issues which are too many, and frankly too bad for me to want to dwell on, meant that I found myself leaving North Denmark to seek refuge with my parents, lick my wounds and recover, and then look around for the way forward from there.

 But somehow I didn't really seem to get any better. In some ways, in fact, it seemed like I was getting worse. Some good did happen, such as realizing that if I belonged any place in Denmark, it was here on Ærø. I would be able to commute for my next job, and perhaps combine that with working from home. Or perhaps even start as a self-employed translator. Which is why we ended up buying a house for me here. With an apple orchard and a bit of land to the property.

And then came the day when I was so sick and tired and weary of it all, that I asked to be admitted to hospital. Signing that paper was in some ways one of the toughest things I have ever done. In many other ways, it was one of the easiest. It was in any case easier than when I had signed my job contract. That is how I got to spend 3 nights in our local hospital towards the end of the year, mostly being a vegetable. The staff were awesome and were shocked to hear I had been living off my savings during all of the time. When I was sent home, it was with medications, strict orders that I went home to my home, not my parents, and that as soon as the Town Hall was open again to file for the sick pay I was entitled to.

Thus it was I ended up in the system, and other people were involved in figuring out how to get on. I won't bother with the long and tedious story. The important thing is that after a few years I was sent to a consulting psychiatrist who gave me two diagnoses. One was that I suffer from recurring depressions, and I would probably face the rest of my life on my medication. The other was a psychiatric illness.

Have you ever thought about how you would react if you were handed a psychiatric diagnosis?

I hadn't. But I know what was going on in my brain when she told me.

One half of me was running around like a headless chicken, using very colourful language, and horrified at being some sort of madman, and probably needing locking up. And the other half was crying and dancing with relief and joy at being told, that I was, in fact, normal, at least in regards to the bits and bobs which make up my mind. It's just not the standard set of bits and bobs. And I wasn't a lazy, good-for-nothing, stupid, doddering idiot. In fact, she stressed the fact that I was in possession of a good intellect. That has held me up many times.

I won't bother about regaling the road from there on to getting a temporary pension (several times) before finally getting a permanent one. Because that is not the important part of this particular story. No, it is rather the observations made during those periods.

I have grown up watching my mum and her mum doing all sorts of textile crafts. Mostly knitting and cross stitching. I had actually done both as a teenager, but it had slid along the side. But during the years before getting the diagnosis and then the following ones, I had picked up knitting again as a way of not losing it altogether. It was a way of keeping my hands, and my mind occupied. People would comment if they saw me without any knitting. And it dawned upon me after I started getting the temporary pension, that I was getting money, and I was spending my days knitting.

This was not what my teen-aged self had envisioned, but in a funny, backward sort of way I was being paid to make stuff with my hands. And after I finally got my first chickens almost three years ago, well, this isn't Wales, and I doubt I'll ever be able to get all my mad dreams of my twenties fulfilled, but it is rural, and I am taking baby steps toward some sort of self-sufficiency.

Life is funny. Funny peculiar, though considering the almost happy ending, funny ha ha could fit too.
Because in a very roundabout way, and nothing like what I had hoped for or dreamed of, I find myself more or less doing what I had wanted to.

I recently saw a quote on a website I frequent: "Sometimes the bad things that happen in our lives put us directly on the path to the best things that will ever happen to us".

Yes. That can happen. And this is what I try to focus on when I have my bad days, or my really bad days, and whenever I get frustrated by the effects that my mental health has upon my abilities and everyday life. Because it isn't all fun and games. It is often a struggle and a battle. But bit by bit, I am going to strive to get closer towards my dreams. It wasn't the way I wanted to follow to get there, but I'll take this opportunity to build my life up again in a way that gives me satisfaction.

This is one of the reasons I have started this blog. Because if some part of my journey before and onward, how I cope with my situation and slowly build up a full life in spite of things, can help or inspire somebody else struggling with some illness or accident which means their lives take a turn down a totally unexpected - and undesired - path, then that is worth sharing.