Who’s the time-waster?

As I moved to get out of bed this morning, after 3 hours of the pleasure of glaring at the ceiling until the sun came up (that which is, to my horror, becoming a personal ritual), I was surprised to find that it was more difficult than usual. It turns out that my baby is far more prepared to make her journey into this world than I am. But wait, aren’t I supposed to be authority figure in this relationship? Hmm… We’ll see, apparently.

Now, I’m not afraid to say that this sudden decline of mobility put me in a shitty mood. For about 30 seconds before I realised I was moaning and talking to myself as I crawled, snail-esque, to the bathroom like a decrepit old woman in a mental home (!). Then I just laughed at my utter ineptitude and flopped into the bath as gracefully as this Elephant-Snail-Mental-Old-Woman hybrid could.

Essentially, I let these silly little things wash over me… It’s all just part and parcel of the joys (haha) of pregnancy.

So, as I sit here by the bedside of a dying man, trying to read him online articles about the things in life he knows and loves, I’m bombarded by Facebook notifications and status updates from people I went to school with and haven’t seen for 10 years or guys I met at a random Student’s house party in a drunken haze at 3am, once, 3 years ago.

Now, normally, this wouldn’t bother me. But as my hormones play havoc with my patience (to name but one aspect) I find I’m becoming increasingly frustrated by these insignificant details of modern life.

It’s not because I don’t want to spy on these people – let’s be truthful – we all add these types of people as ‘friends’ on Social Networking sites because we want to see how they’re doing for themselves since they put chewing gum in your hair and called you a Spastic all those years ago in RE Class, hoping you can prove to them that being the Teacher’s Pet, not chasing spotty adolescents round the playground, was a better path to take because they’re working at some crappy part time job that’ll never progress and you’re doing a Masters Degree. Or is that just me (?). It’s because these people are the kind of self-involved, small-minded irritations that post statuses like “FML! Mi life is such a c*nt cos i av a cold” or “o no! i cant get the lid off the coffee jar. kill me now”.

Firstly, it took me a good 4 months to interpret the meaning of the letters “FML” (much to my pride, really). What the hell is that about? Where did it come from? And when did I become too old to be let in on the secret codes of youth?

Secondly, why the bollocks should I or any one of the other 35 people we’re unfortunately connected to through the wonders of the Internet give a shit?

I don’t care how lonely or insignificant your life is that you feel the need to have a public breakdown, specifically to seek attention from half-hearted gossipers and effective strangers, about something as simple as a cold or the fact that your coffee got spilt this morning and you had to spend another 2 minutes out of your oh-so-busy day of Jeremy Kyle and Loose Women to make another one.

I just find it so desperate and masturbatory that it makes me question humanity… Particularly at a time, for me, such as this.

I have a lot of friends at the moment who are pregnant, who’s partners are pregnant or who have just had children (yes, I do feel like I’ve jumped on a band-wagon) so my Newsfeed is currently full to the brim with baby stuff. “great!”, you’re probably thinking, “bringing life into this world is a positive and beautiful thing that the human body is built to do”… Well, yes, this is what I think, too. However, my Facebook doesn’t seem to agree. Unfortunately.

Everyday I see people moaning about aches and pains, morning sickness, tiredness, feeling fat and ugly or just sad faces as they look, pathetically, for the affirmation of attention from people they hardly know.

There have been so many instances where I’ve had to refrain from leaving some unbelievably bitchy comment or given them some kind of Motherly (oh, look, a joke) life lesson about the fact that pregnancy – in this day and age – is a choice, not only a beautiful thing. It’s also temporary and the discomfort they may feel now will be immediately forgotten as soon as that small bundle of joy (and poo and sick and an endless supply of screaming) appears in their arms. If they can’t cope with a few aches and pains now, how are they going to cope with the responsibility of protecting another human life – or labour for that matter??

I’ll admit, I’m known for the occasional bout of sadness at the undeniable fact my walking is getting worse or that my back is always hurting and I can’t seem to get through 2 minutes of adverts on channel 4 without crying, but I sure as hell don’t whinge about it in public. Maybe I’m suppressed and uptight (I am English, after all) or maybe I just know that;

A) Everyone who knows me knows I’m a cripple (!)

B) It’s a well known fact that life has it’s obstacles and sometimes it’s difficult to see passed the big ones and;

C) No-one’s interested, anyway.

If I do moan about my life I like to do it sarcastically or ironically (like this) because that way, it’s fun and, at the least, takes the edge off.

Basically, all you people who whinge publicly about how terrible your life is just because you have a hangover or your boyfriend’s not texted you in an hour, get some perspective, withdraw from your bubble and do something that’ll actually entertain, not make people want to hate you.

Rant over 🙂

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