So, the time of holidays is upon us. At last. And this time round, we apparently decided to attempt to actually go somewhere. Shock horror, I know. Especially for me.
We’re a family who haven’t gone on holiday in our holidays for years. Usually I like it that way. For hopefully-by-now-obvious reasons.
I should point out that These Reasons are not actually the real reasons why we haven’t ventured outside the house in so long. Oh no. The reasons are much simpler than that:
- My mum is good at organising things. But she has had to deal with drawn-out, torturous attempts being made on her life by her spine-shiver-inducing cretins. Or in other words, her delightful colleagues. I’m sure their parents would be so proud. So she’s not had the time, nor the inclination, of late to get anywhere on the research front.
- My dad is, frankly, useless. He can’t make a decision to save his life. He’s one of those people who won’t contribute to discussions in any useful way (if at all), and instead will wait until someone else makes a decision… and then methodically – and painfully for all – tears their logic apart. So you can’t win with him, basically. You can’t do right by him, as he’s The Anally Particular One (yes, more so even than me), but he wouldn’t make a decision for himself if his life depended on it.
- My dad’s at work all the time anyway, so we can’t fit any sane travelling time around him. Even if we wanted to. Which, honestly, we don’t. He’s the one who doesn’t get up until noon every day when on holiday; he’s the one who takes three hours or more to get ready to leave; he’s the one who complains incessantly about how damn busy it is whenever we are out; and he’s the one who’s so anal about food and pricing that we are forced to wander around for hours, trying – and often failing – to find a suitable eatery. And I’m the one with sensory problems.
OK, I’ve got more complaints, but I think I’ve inflicted my whining on my poor reader(s?) enough already. So I’ll stop. You can relax now.
In fact, the last time we went on a holiday – you know, properly out somewhere – was before my social phobia began to creep out of my braincells and into the world. I’m not even sure if I can remember that far back.
So, it seems, the responsibility is falling on me. And here lies The Bloggable Problem…
The Bloggable Problem
Well, as a social phobic… yes, I know, I’m recovering, but that still doesn’t mean I’m Anywhere Near There Yet. So, I repeat: as a social phobic, I’d like to announce for future reference…
It’s not the best idea in the universe to leave Someone Like Me in charge of planning an Outsidey Thing. Really.
I mean, come on, it’s not bleeping rocket science, is it? Really? And the Even Sadder Part is that this is not the first time I’ve been left pondering the logic of These People.
Do people not understand the concept of social phobia? It’s kind of self-explanatory, is it not…? Seriously, think about it: if you want to go outside to do things, then it’s probably best to give the responsibility to someone in whom, you know, the idea doesn’t induce panic.
Am I being unreasonable here?
The only reason I end up lumbered with this kind of thing is because I’m Aspie. And therefore, I don’t like not knowing what’s going on. Change freaks me out almost as much as talking to people. So, naturally, I pester people. A lot. What are we doing? When have you booked time off from work? What will everyone want to do while we’re there?
But I ask these things to ease the decision-making for the person who actually wants to make the decisions. And that’s not me.
Pesterings Versus Practicality
If anyone cared to think about it, it’s actually quite easy to see my point (and hopefully take on this particular burden… hint hint, parental people). Yes, I pester. Most people who know me should know why… and if they don’t, it’s right up there. Ha. That will teach you not to skim my posts. Blowing raspberry… now.
But I’ll re-make my points because I’m annoyed at the moment, and because it’ll save me banging people’s heads together… and because I blog, therefore I can. In several-bullet-points-per-actual-point.
- I still can’t use phones. Which makes booking things in advance… a fucking nightmare, to put it bluntly. I’ve had to do this before, and I am not doing it again…
- From my experience so far, it involves trying to book online instead if possible, only to find that no one gives you the information you need to do so (because, you know, they’re not anal… and they’re also not having to make the bleeping effort, which apparently includes checking phones now)…
- Then it involves having to pester someone else to phone for you so as to work around this little gem of nature’s own creation. Which means a tolerant person (few and far between, when it comes to social ineptitudes, sadly – most don’t have the patience)…
- Then it involves many many long-winded, roundabout ways to ensure everything’s booked correctly and I know what’s going on…
- And finally, it involves very little appreciation for the effort you’ve made (and inevitable sleep that is lost), because people don’t want to hear it, a lot of the time.
- Since I’ve booked things, I’m the one having to retain all the information given in t’booking. I’m also the one having to do the speaking when we get there. Me. The one who had a panic attack at the thought of sitting in a room containing Other People.
And here are some more, non-social-phobia-related irritations floating around in my mind with regards to the same problematic peoplestuff:
- I have revision to do. A lot of revision.
- Which, for me, in all my Pathetic Glory, means sitting at home, all day, every day, making notes, reading things, consolidating… and stuff. I blog in my breaks. As you may have guessed.
- I am currently balancing several online balls (again: oh do calm down), none of which can be dropped without potentially damaging others.
- I am in the process of a medical transition (finally), and there is not a thing in this world that will get in its way, if I can at all help it.
- I am dealing with mental health issues other than social phobia, which are rearing their ugly heads again, despite many-pronged counter-attacks on my part.
- I am already stressed beyond belief. If you do Chemistry where I do, then you will know why. You. Will. Know. And no more will be said about it. Edging away.
So, hopefully, it’s fairly clear why, even if I did relish the responsibility that comes with Events Planning For The Socially Inept, I simply don’t have the time.
And so, this is a somewhat pointless message, aimed at my computer-practically-illiterate parents, and any others who might still be under the illusion that I’m a masochist. I am not the right person for this kind of job. Please leave it to the Extroverts, or the Perpetually Enthusiastic, or even the Eternally Optimistic.
Or, better yet, just Anyone Other Than Me. Incredibly Exhausted Prime out. Or in, as the case will be.