I don’t know whether it’s considered good practice to have your first blog in a new category – in this case ‘learning new skills’ – start with a rather negative example. But then that’s the reality, so here goes.
As those of you in the golden years of retirement know all too well you develop new skills as you get older. You learn new skills but they’re not always the ones you want. God says, hey, I’ve got something for you. Great, you say, what is it? Dropping things, He says. Hmm, you ponder, that’s actually not that fab. Take it or leave it he says with religious overtones. I’ll leave it thanks. Too slow, too late, he chirps (like only God can) it’s yours. I call this a God conversation, you – thanks very fucking much for nothing. Cheers mate, says he and he’s back in the cloud.
So we’ve got this dropping things thing. I suppose it’s pretty much the same skill deficit area as not being able to turn the pages of a book, newspaper, magazine or lift a cup to your mouth without doing a Julie Walter’s waitress impersonation. Where was I? Oh yes, dropping things. I talk to the things I drop, Often starting quite aggressively as sock, towel, underpants, glass, book, food, etc slip from my ageing fingers. ‘Bastard’ I say addressing the object directly *.
But it doesn’t stop there. I enter into what can be quite a protracted conversation. I enter a kind of twilight zone, nothing else exists except me and the object (not quite of desire but similar). Me and the object, the object and me – alone. I begin. “Don’t think for a fucking minute I’m going to pick you up, no way, Jose. Don’t pretend you can’t hear me. There’s plenty more where you came from (this is a reference to the plenty more fish in the sea line and a good example of the reality of this position is the fact I have 5 or 6 pieces of soap for use in the shower – back up soap you might say – anybody might think I’d been in prison, which I haven’t , at least not yet). Returning to the object I say in a loud voice to increase the impact of my message –“Yes, you, you can just fuck off.” I’m quite rude to them but that’s their fault. They’ve made their choice and must now suffer the consequences.
By the way as a slight digression, I shout rude things at the radio as well. A bit of Tourette’s maybe? Especially the adverts on Classic FM, sent them an email once saying their adverts were shit, no reply as yet.
Back to my main theme. So I have this brilliant tactic to stop them getting the better of me. I have, in effect, learned a new skill. I don’t pick them up! I used to try and flick up my underpants unfortunately they usually went across the room rather than up into my waiting hands. OK, I say you had your chance, you made your choice – again, so now bollocks to you, stay there. By the way don’t try the flicky uppy technique with a glass or similar, it’s rarely a success.
I say brilliant tactic except I have to say it’s not popular with my wife who says we’d be knee deep in objects unless she picked them up. I have noticed that she is becoming a bit on the droppy side recently. So that might be a problem in the long run. But for now I’m happy with it.
You will notice I’ve called this piece a ‘life style choice’ . That’s because I believe we choose to let things drop. A hot tip, all we actually have to do is to grip things more tightly and, above all, concentrate. How hard can that be? Sorry what did I just say. See that’s the problem we forget to concentrate. We’re lulled by success (we learn from our mistakes it is said) and we stop concentrating and then inevitably it happens. Before we know it our well-being is plummeting floorwards and frustration walks through the door. Sometimes I berate myself – you clumsy old fool type thing, but on the whole I prefer to give the object both barrels, a good kicking metaphorically and sometimes actually. So there we are, that’s my strategy for coping with dropping stuff. Just leave it, just leave it.
*I’d like you to know that I dropped my glasses while writing this and I banged my head on the shelves trying to pick them up. Living proof that I should not have tried to pick them up but I needed them – hate that. I said bad words and now they’re still on the floor because I got so mad when I banged my head. I eventually got another pair off the desk.