Communication and obligation

I would never have guessed that deciding to stay with my mobile contract or leave it for an attractive Pay As You Go option would cause so much trouble. As if making that decision wasn’t worrying enough, the consequences of it are enough to throw my whole social position into question.

I don’t use all of my monthly allowance on O2 and I spend £30 a month for that privilege. I don’t take full advantage of the contract deal because people never contact me and I rarely contact people.

PAYG would be cheaper because I have no friends.

But I’m thinking, what if I suddenly get friends? My monthly expenditure may shoot through the roof and because my credit rating is poor and I don’t own any utilities and pay their bills (why I want to own utilities baffles me), it’d be near impossible to get a contract again; I’m financially unreliable and the only way to prove I exist is unfortunately through an easily forged document.

But forget that for a second – what if I end up getting friends? I’ll be asked to parties. And because having so many new friends means I’ll be texting and talking more often, I’ll not have the credit to contact them and tell them I’m not coming, which means I’ll be obliged to turn up.

Maybe I’ll just throw my phone in the river.

*Pang*

I shouldn’t be given the responsibility of making decisions. Not because I can’t make a good one but because I often start to wonder if I’ve made the right one.

There are a myriad of possibilities when it comes to making decisions, so I don’t believe that there is such a thing as a ‘wrong decision’, just bad ones. Or silly ones. Risky?

You can tell when you’re starting to question your judgement because you obviously make your choice, time passes a little and then the memory of it might surface through conversation with a friend or through random synapses firing; you get that sudden tug in your stomach, similar to the one you get before you’re sick, followed by the feeling that you’re missing out on something.

I’ve made some hefty decisions in the past year and most have died out already. Except one: postponing my studies. And I’m reminded of it at least twice a week where I find myself worrying that I was a bit hasty, if choosing this path will mean that I end up in an undesirable position next year, if I’ll even be interested in going back or indeed if it’ll even be worthwhile.

There are pros and cons; if I go back next year I’ll be able to finish the qualification, maybe get my life back a little, spend some time with a friend, get out of the house, engage in academics again but it also means that I could end up finding that I’ve wasted my time (after finding that I didn’t get much from the first year) and about£2000.

If I don’t return, I get that money back. Yum. I’ve potentially not wasted my time, I don’t have to worry about being unwell at any point, struggling with work or travel, feeling ostracised etc. but it also means I would have dropped out of an MA course. I don’t like that part. And I could actually be missing out on something big.

I could be stressed out and tired all over again in September (by returning early) or I could spend my year out worrying myself sick.

Money or opportunity? In all likelihood, both are bound to lead to disappointment sooner or later.

Never ask for a storm

It must be nice up there. I hear the view is quite magnificent and that you have sunshine and a breeze in your hair. It must be nice, living above the poverty line and not having to worry about what you’re going to eat next week because all you can really afford is bread, milk and eggs.

You’re worried about eviction? Oh don’t worry about that, some of us have been juggling that one for a while. It’s old news, losing your home. But I guess you should be a little concerned about where you’ll end up if it does happen…

If you ever do end up down here, below the poverty line, try not to think about the material loss because that just adds to the pain of knowing that you’ve worked so hard to get where you are and now because you’re living with a £30 a week deficit, you can’t afford to put yourself out there. That’s the hard bit, being unable to get yourself noticed. Not only are your clothes a bit washed-out, making job interviews sketchy, people generally tend to forget about you. Mainly the people who allocate you life. Oh you don’t know them? I can help you there.

Hard times put a strain on everyone, but down here, it gets a little worse (things aren’t great anyway) because for some reason or another the people who designate you the ability to live, and this is the ability to eat, be warm, have a home with water – not the ability to go out and party it up on a budget of £120 a night five times a week – these people can’t seem to add. Or read. Or understand. And then they have a go at you for it. They’ll tell you to cut your expenditure, get a job or something. And if for some reason you’re not fit to do any of that, they’ll still chip you away. They’re nice like that.

You can try appealing but it’s a lengthy process and you’re not getting any richer. The landlord is understanding in a way, but they will eventually evict you. Oh right, you own your own home. That means you’ll just be repossessed and… hold on a sec. You have social standing? Why are you even talking to me?

Welcome to the poverty trap. Not that you will ever experience it. The only hardship you’ll ever experience in the next few years is not getting that £50,000 bonus. Now. Any chance you could spare a couple of quid? I could do with a warm drink… Yeh, I know I’m not homeless (yet) but y’know, it’s hard down here!

Ugh, y’know what? Just leave.

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We can all feel the pinch, but it’s starting to cut off my blood supply.