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Mr. Yumicho and I were planning a relaxing weekend in, and for the most part, it was. Yesterday, when I woke him, Mr. Yumicho said he was looking forward to a lazy day after I told him all we really had to do that day was wash our laundry.
My brother-in-law asked Mr. Yumicho if he’d help him haul off some rubbish. So much for the lazy day. It wasn’t that much of a bother, though. We figured it would take an hour tops. In the meantime, I was going to help my mother in law clean out the fridge.
While the car was being loaded with rubbish, my mother in law said my father in law wanted kippers and she had to go to Sainsbury’s. I had kippers and gave her some. She was thankful, my father in law was thankful, and I said I was glad to have saved her a trip.
Somehow, I am not sure how, she thought I offered to go shopping for her. Or maybe she thought I was going shopping (I wasn’t). Or maybe she just assumed that I wouldn’t mind going to the store for her without her asking, because she came up to me and rattled off a list of things she needed (and she’d give me money to get). We weren’t planning to shop until today or tomorrow. So I asked Mr. Yumicho if he could pick the things up on the way back from throwing out the rubbish. He said he’d pick me up and go with me, but he didn’t know what she wanted.
By the time we left, it was after 5. We didn’t realise it because none of the clocks had been changed in the kitchen or the car. It’s some law that all British business owners have to be adverse to making money, so most grocery stores close around 5 pm on a Sunday after opening late in the morning. So we had to drive around Pimlico and Chelsea looking for an open grocery store. After stopping at 3 places, we finally found an open Waitrose (which was only open until 6). It was packed, by the way, so at least in Chelsea, demand for a market early on Sunday evening seemed to be high.
She seemed grateful, but I guess I get a little angsty about the whole thing. I don’t mind helping out if is my choice. We aren’t freeloading here. We’re paying our bills, and at times, I know they would have been hard pressed to make ends meet without us. And yes, that works both ways, because we are paying off bills for my move. I guess I am starting to resent being treated like a child and having no say in my “duties”. Keep in mind, I run Mr. Yumicho and my “sub-household” and am responsible for any of the things we need done domestically (although Mr. Yumicho helps me a lot with things).
There are things that need to be done in the greater household as well, but rather than being consulted about how we can contribute, things are just left for us to do. Or assumed that we will be willing to do it without being asked.
I guess I would have less of a problem doing it if there wasn’t so much criticism involved. I made a cup of tea for my mother in law the other night and she said pointedly she was going to put more milk in it because she preferred it milkier. Like she was correcting a servant or something.
I have baggage. No, not the usual few pieces of carry-on that people usually have, but huge steamer trunks full of emotional issues. Being treated like a live-in servant growing up has severely impaired by ability to live with people without constantly trying to defend against being taken advantage of.
I can’t make my mother in law respect me. There’s no question that she doesn’t. This isn’t any misinterpretation because of some neurosis, but a pretty valid assessment. What is neurotic is that it matters. I shouldn’t attempt to please her, and I definitely shouldn’t allow her opinion to affect me.
I can try to be assertive in a rational way, but unless there is a foundation of self-worth it’s difficult. I battle resentment with my inlaws, and it’s difficult sometimes to figure out what’s my baggage, and what’s theirs.
I want to have a healthy relationship with them. I guess it doesn’t help that I am not used to living with people, and that I yearn for a normal life for me and my husband.
I’m really sick of berating myself for social faux pas or inability to socialise with other people in a way that’s enjoyable to all parties. Over time, I have come to believe I am not a likeable person. Well, I am not a person who most people can like. This isn’t depression talking. Seriously, I can’t see how so many people can be so wrong about someone.
When you can’t get along with most people you come in contact with, you have to start wondering if the fault lies within you and not externally. When I was younger I guess it was easier to compensate for my lack of social skills.
For years I have tried to figure out how to make myself a more likeable person, at least superficially. Theoretically, I could possibly collect acquaintances or get some satisfaction out of passing conversations with total strangers at bus stops or in store queues. I’ve tried to figure out what makes someone a good person. I’ve concluded that it doesn’t always mean they are a likeable person. So what makes someone a likeable person? I am not sure.
Maybe I give people the benefit of the doubt too much. I assume that someone is a fully functioning, mentally stable adult. Perhaps the whole process of socialisation would be a lot easier if I just assumed that people are fragile and in need of reassurance unless they prove otherwise. Then I can work out during our interactions how to make emotional and intellectual concessions that help comfort them.
Years ago, I was on a church camping trip where one of the leaders decided to have us do an exercise where we learned how to make people interested in us. The idea was that people are more likely to find you interesting and likeable if you let them talk about themselves, and you engage them in conversation about what they bring up. So they gave us this mnemonic device to remember different topics of conversation and the general order the topics should go in. Still, when I’ve tried to practice this, I’ve felt awkward and weird.
It’s not that I am not interested in other people. I am. I just seem to without fail repel most people I interact with. Maybe I should rush out and get a bunch of books on making friends and being more social. I wonder if it would make me even more awkward.
I guess it comes down to my own self worth. This is totally different that self absorption, which I have to admit I spend a lot of time thinking about myself, even if it’s in a negative context. I need to learn to weather the judgements of others. I need to learn when to not worry about someone else’s judgement and to allow for others to make their own faux pas, and when to assertively put my foot down. It just seems all too tempting to reject the whole process.
Yet my lazy arse was still on holiday. I totally blame Lovefilm and their game rental option.
We had a pretty good time on the Isle of Wight. It was rainy, wet, and the whole time I had “Everyday is like Sunday” in my head because we were probably two of maybe 20 tourists on the island. But it was definitely worth the trip. In a way many of the rural inhabitants of the island reminded me of home except they had British accents rather than rural Northeastern American accents. I’ve heard IOW described as 1950s England in a time capsule. More than likely, this description was coined years ago, because it no longer seems the case. It does seem a bit like late 1980s England in a time capsule.
I absolutely loved that you could get practically anywhere on the Island on a bus. It seems that many of the residents love this as well as announcements about community meetings about the bus service were all over the place. Plus, I think that the island’s resident population has a high percentage of retired people, so public transport is likely high on their lists of important services. Still, there is nothing like riding along at a high speed on the top of a double decker bus that is roaming narrow country lanes going from one small hamlet to another.
Pretty much anything a person could need can be found on the IOW, and a lot of things that are very hard to find in the London. There was a Wimpy burger, several stores that Mr. Yumicho thought had been out of business for years, and I was able to find some cleaning products my mother in law had been looking for for at least since I came to the UK, if not longer. I found them in the ironmonger by the way, a place I just had to visit because of the name. It was, of course, an average small town hardware store, but I love the name. I am glad that I live in a country that, at least in some areas, uses such terminology.
We stayed in a stereotypical little British hotel room, that because it served a full English Breakfast, was called a B&B. Because of the storm the week before, many TV aerials were down so we couldn’t watch TV. Although our days were pretty full, because we had to walk quite a distance to and from the bus, we’d try to get home before 10 pm. Even after our hotel’s aerial was fixed, the TV had such bad reception that it was unwatchable. We read a lot and fell asleep listening to the surf. I’ve come to realise that when we get our own property, I’d rather it be near some body of water or river. Within hearing distance.
We visited the windmill that Turner painted in Bembridge. To get to it, we had to walk down a windy British lane with no shoulder. It was gorgeous, but scary. Despite the mostly rural setting, the IOW is a pretty busy place. The few hundred metres we had to go, at least 5 cars went by causing us to have to tramp through the soggy, muddy field beside the lane. At some points, there was absolutely no shoulder at all as the driving lane bordered with a wall.
It was really worth the walk. Despite the light drizzle, the view from the windmill was breathtaking. In fact, I don’t think it would have been as beautiful if it had been clear and dry. Afterwards, we headed to Bembridge proper, and realised we might have to wait in the (now pouring) rain for two hours for a bus. We went to the only shop opened and had coffee and a snack. Our impressions of Bembridge aren’t that favourable, and since Mr. Yumicho expected me to write about it, here it is.
Other highlights? Lots of picture SQ landscape. Trying to see the Needles through the driving rain. Using a Victorian era public loo that apparently hasn’t been cleaned since soon after it was built. It might have been a part of the “Brading Experience” which, if we had been willing to pay to go into some of the different parts of the “experience” would probably be a highlight in itself. We rode on the railway in an old London subway car from the inter-war period. We watched a film in an old cinema with the world’s most uncomfortable chairs, did a half-arsed pub crawl followed by a tea crawl the following day. But what struck me most about the place was that I could see myself living there. It was so laid back compared to London while maintaining the convenience of having everything within easy reach. I really enjoyed myself, despite some hardships that weren’t really that hard at all. There was a sense of community there, and the people, for the most part, were friendly and great. To be greeted in passing was wonderful, and something I miss about the US.
We’ve talked about possibly moving there, but we’d have to really think about the feasibility. Mr. Yumicho thinks that he could commute to London (we could probably work it out to be less than 2 hours per trip), but I think that would get old fast. Plus, we ran into one problem that would be a deal breaker when we almost couldn’t get off the island due to the ferry service being suspended because of rough seas. Not only that, but any reduction of our carbon footprint because we would be able to continue to live without a car would probably be eradicated by that killer commute. Perhaps we could look into opportunities for us on the island itself, but I doubt there is much call for our skills, particularly Mr. Yumicho’s. But still, to be able to buy a two bedroom house for under £100,000…and that is not a semi or a maisonette, it makes it all the more tempting.
We initially wanted to go to the coast a few weeks ago, but a family emergency stopped us from doing so. We then made plans to go this coming weekend, and Mr. Yumicho got some time off work. Now, with the huge monster storm, I am wondering if this is such a good idea.
I guess if we don’t go, we can do some things around London such as visiting the decommissioned nuclear bunker in Kelvedon Hatch. I would get to go somewhere that I want to go, and Mr. Yumicho can be finished with hearing that I want to go there. He’ll probably then start hearing that I want our own decommissioned nuclear bunker.
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This is now two days later. For some reason, I thought I had published this post and not just saved it. We are definitely going to start our journey to the Isle of Wight in a few hours. Weird that I haven’t been outside London in 5 months. Oh, it’s my immigrantamonthaversary today!
Oh, Mr. Yumicho is stirring. He’s looking pretty out of it.
Well, I am sure I will have lots of things to write about when I return from the place that’s called England 1950s style.
I am still not feeling that much better. We ended up going to Hampton Court yesterday, which was at points breathtaking (although I really don’t recommend the maze. The gardens, yes, the maze no). Even though we had around 5 hours there, it felt like we missed a lot. We’ll probably return in a month or two when our friend from the States comes to visit. The gardens, I am sure, will be even better then.
It amazes me that people actually live there. Until the mid 20th century, people were granted the privilege of living within the palace in “grace and favour” apartments rent-free as a token of thanks for service to the Crown and the Kingdom. In 1986, one such resident was responsible for a fire that damaged a good part of the Georgian section of the palace. It also lead to his death, which was sad, but also because of his own folly. Apparently he fell asleep while reading a book by candlelight. I am not sure if any such residents are still around today, but there are still occupied apartments taken up mostly by staff and organizations associated with Hampton Court. I don’t know why this little titbit fascinates me so much. People live in the Tower of London. Maybe it was because when wandering the castle, you stumble into people’s courtyards and could gaze into their living rooms if the drapes weren’t pulled shut against such intrusions.
So we had a rather good time walking around the palace designed during three vastly different ages of English history. Little placards, the audio tour, and palace staff pointed out on more than one occasion that the guests during Tudor times would piss in the corners of the Great Hall and other areas of the oldest parts of the palace. In fact, palace staff resorted to painting white crosses in spots that looked like appealing places to relieve yourself to deter at least the Christians among the court from relieving themselves en mass in this and other castles that were in use at the time. It wasn’t that they were grossed out by peeing in a room people congregated, ate, and slept in as much as there were just so many people at Hampton Court and the other palaces when the King was in residence. If it were just a handful of people, it wouldn’t be a big deal or gross at all.
Somehow I managed to get another illness. I think this one is a virus because I have no fever. My glands are swollen and it hurts to swallow (or move my head). Our nephew came to London a few days ago and fell ill with this, and now I am all moany and sore.
Our first DVDs from the UK version of Netflix came the other day. They do things a bit differently and you cannot order your lists like in the US. So we received two random titles from our “high priority” list. I was hoping for Control but got The Queen instead. I am going to will the list to send out the one I want today.
I don’t feel very inspired to write today. I just want to go back to sipping hot fluids and trying not to swallow too much outside of that. I am miserable when I am ill. But it’s time when you feel the least in need of writing that you should write. Demand resistance and all that.
If I am feeling better by the weekend, Mr. Yumicho told me he wants to go to Hampton Court this weekend. Next week we are going to go on a mini-break to the coast (something we had planned a few weeks ago before a family emergency interfered). I am really looking forward to both trips. Hampton Court and The Tower of London were the two reasons we bought the membership that allows us free admission for a year.
Mr. Yumicho and I have been off sugar, starches, and grains for almost two months. It’s been great. I’ve dropped 28 pounds, and Mr. Yumicho has lost around 23. Both of us have maintained our lean muscle mass. We decided to have a planned cheat day. Because I was feeling so depressed yesterday, I asked if we could start it early by going out for pizza. By the time we left the restaurant, we were both bloated and felt sick. Sure, there’s a bit of a shock from switching from one diet to another so quickly, but I also remember that I felt that way after eating high carb foods a lot. Maybe not every day, but a few times a week. How can we see eating that way as being healthy when it can make us feel that way so often? Are we blind? I never felt that way in the past couple of months, even after having a huge meal. Not to mention the food tasted awful and overly sweet.
And can we talk farts for a moment? I have farted once, and only once since going off grain and sugar. It’s not like we haven’t eaten the usual culprits like cruciferous vegetables. Since last night, I have farted no fewer than 50 times. I am full of gas and I am looking forward to cutting out the baddies again come tomorrow.
It’s cold here. Not the bitter cold that freezes the snot in your nose or the sort of cold you feel when you have to trudge through three feet of snow, but a damp cold that seeps to your bones. It doesn’t help that we don’t have good central heating or that our beautiful, large windows are single paned (and in need of weatherproofing).
When I tell people from back home that it’s cold, and I do the necessary translations from Celsius into Fahrenheit, there’s always the pause. This pause almost always makes me slightly embarrassed because I know it sounds to them, those warding off Arctic blasts and Lake Effect blizzards, as if I am making something out of nothing.
I am frustrated here. The true extent of my social ineptness is so obvious now. What comes naturally and easily to some people, most people, is so difficult for me. When I was waiting for my visa, it was easier because I had an excuse to isolate myself. Here it’s not so much the case. It takes me days to get over a failed attempt at connecting with other people.
By living with our in-laws, something that has turned out to be a benefit for them as much as it is a benefit for us, I feel that somehow I’ve lost my adult status. At times I feel my husband doesn’t receive the respect he should just because he doesn’t work for the family business. We are the last to use the kitchen at night. We are last to have access to things like the washer and dryer. I thought we had worked out a plan for using it once a week, the same time, the same day. This works about 60% of the time. When on Sunday night, if someone is in the middle of doing laundry, we are told we should have done it when it was not in use. It’s usually in use. We cannot do laundry at 2AM when my mother in law’s last load most days is finally dried, and we shouldn’t have to change long standing plans to grab it when we happen to see it not in use. There are three other people in this household, and they have 6.5 days to do laundry when the two of us are not.
As much as I want to scream that this isn’t working out, I realise that even though they need us, we still need this, at least until some of the loans are paid off. I am torn right now. I want them to be secure when we leave, but not at the expense of excess stress on me, my husband, our relationship, or to any detriment to us.
I had planned this to be a light-hearted entry. My unhappiness permeates any attempt at that I suppose. Ah, well, there’s always tomorrow to be funny.
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