Bad habits: Six more things I have come to accept I cannot change about myself

Around four years ago I wrote a list of my bad habits; namely not getting enough sleep, eating too much, living in a festering hell hole, being consistently late TO EVERYTHING and always being way too optimistic.

My kids are now older (that’s the passage of time for you!) and are both at school, and although I’d love to claim that my house is now like a show home given all the “spare time” I now have which I could use to clean it, it isn’t. It’s OK, but there are more important things to do. Due to no longer having babies/toddlers I’m happy to report that I do in fact get more sleep – but I definitely don’t go to bed early enough. I’m still a stone over where I want to be. I gave up on optimism a long time ago.

By way of an update, here are six more truths about myself.

I cannot be trusted to do the supermarket shop

I am Fran, I am 37 years old and I absolutely cannot be trusted in ANY supermarket.

Before the pandemic hit, I had a regular online delivery slot which was pretty straightforward, but since they became rarer than rocking horse shit – and I was absolutely bloody desperate to go anywhere on my own – I started physically going into the shops a lot more. This has lead me to ask myself, WHY am I incapable of going in, with a list, and coming out with the things I need and only those things?

If I go into Sainsbury’s, Asda or Tesco I come out with clothes.

If I go into Aldi or Lidl, I come out with a wetsuit, a new power tool and a lazy Susan*

If I go into Waitrose, I come out with one shopping bag, a sense of confusion and mean message from my bank telling me to stop being so spendy.

*I’m not even sorry, it’s practically a hobby now. I’m thinking of writing a book called ‘I must remember to go to the specialbuys aisle in Aldi next week and look at the tools and other ways middle age sneaks up on you.

I leave everything to the last minute

The timeline of my working day goes 9am – 10pm: Procrastinate, argue with people online, drink tea, piss around on social media under the guise of ‘working’.

Approx 10pm – 11pm: Realise I have deadlines looming, I’m really behind with everything and experience a sudden rush of productivity (even though I was planning to be in bed not long after 10).

If I read your message and don’t reply right now, I will not message you back

If you happen to text me when I’m supposed to be working and therefore grateful for any and all distractions I’ll probably get back to you straight away. We might even have a conversation.

If I leave it unread, I’ll probably open it and reply when I get a chance.

If I read it, and can’t or don’t reply straight away, then you’re probably never going to hear from me again. You’ll be left on read eternally. I don’t mean to be like that, it’s just how it works.

I waste too much time arguing online

For someone that somehow can’t find time to message my friends and family back, I don’t half waste a lot of time commenting on news articles and then – and I’m not proud – replying to the wonderful people who come along to ‘debate’.

One of my favourite pastimes is making the same comments on the Daily Mail, Mirror and Guardian etc coverage of the same stories and then watching the replies. Honestly, if you are ever in need of thick, angry people who don’t understand sarcasm and nuance, go for the Daily Heil every single time. Want to see someone standing up for someone making racist comments under ‘freedom of speech’? Pop along and take your pick; while you’re there you can tick off your Angry Gammon Bingo in literally minutes. (Also, I don’t understand why ‘woke’ has replaced ‘snowflake’ and the angry right-winger insult of choice, and how or why it’s meant to be insulting).

Even when I’m not being argumentative I get myself in trouble. Last week I left a stupid comment on a BBC news article, and even now my inbox is overrun with men from various locations in Africa telling me I’m beutifull [sic] and sending me rose emojis. No peens thankfully, although I had one straight out ask me for a very specific £190. I don’t know how often that works for him; I did ask but he left me on read.

I have the most appalling memory

I don’t even need to be tipsy to make promises and offers which I immediately forget about. I can’t even remember how long it’s been like this – which isn’t surprising really.

It’s not that I don’t want to lend you X, or do Y, or attend Z but I just forgot that I said I would. I have every intention of fulfilling my promise, you just have to keep reminding me that I made it because my brain is full of other useful things like every lyric to every song from the 1990s instead.

If I write something in my calendar then that is almost a dead cert, unless I accidentally swipe the notification away then we’re all doomed. Remembering to take daily medication should be easy enough and I have an alarm on my phone and everything but somehow I still manage to forget it on a semi-regular basis and then spend the next day in the depths of despair and regret.

There is no such thing as ‘just the one’ glass of wine

I can happily go without entirely but one drink is never just the one; there’s always a second. Or a third, or a fourth, dammit we may as well just kill that bottle and start another after all today has been stressful and there’s a pandemic on and a million other excuses and boy, why do I have a hangover and a stone to lose? It’s a complete mystery!