Deceptica's Diary

Last month I logged into Livejournal for the first time in a while and was greeted by a message prompting me to accept the site's updated T&Cs because the company has moved to Russia. Long story short, I am not happy about this. Livejournal has changed a lot since that fateful day back in 2004 when I first created my account, and not always for the better, but this is the straw that has finally pushed me towards moving. I've been advised that the best place to go to is Dreamwidth, a Livejournal knock-off created by former employees of the company who are devoted to staying true to what used to make the site so great. Fortunately they make it very easy to import an old Livejournal, including details such as old comments and icons, so that's what I did. My username is the same over there as it was here; so feel free to friend me on Dreamwidth or whatever they call it over there.

That said, I have to admit that I do feel considerable heartache about "having to" make this move. I've been on Livejournal for nearly thirteen years at this point, and I invested a lot of time and effort into setting everything up "just right", such as the layout and what not. At the same time, my interest in maintaining a personal journal has dwindled considerably since that golden age, as evidenced by the fact that I only made a total of seven posts last year. So moving at this stage feels a bit like kicking your old grandma out of the family home she has lived in for all her life because it's going to be torn down to make space for a new highway. Where I'm going to may not be a bad place, but it's lacking my old friends (not that most of them have shown their faces on LJ in a long time either) and I've reached a level of apathy where nothing I'm going to do on the new site is likely to amount to very much. I suppose in theory I could see it as a chance to make a fresh start, become a member of some new communities etc. but I just don't think that's very likely. Just the thought of re-customising my layout over there and adding back some profile information that wasn't imported almost feels like too much effort. Nevertheless, the deed is done.

I'm not going to delete this journal, but I'm not going to renew my paid account when it runs out, and any new posts (the six a year that I actually feel like making) will be made over on Dreamwidth. If the Russians ever decide to just delete this journal, at least I don't have to worry about it.

Let me tell you something random about me today that came up recently but that I don't recall ever discussing with anyone outside of my family before.

I have an irrational hatred of buttons.

I'm not aware of having experienced any sort of button-related trauma at an early age, but even as a toddler I would break out into screams and sobs whenever my mother tried to put me into what she thought was a cute little blouse because OMG THE BUTTONS. She eventually managed to work around it by making me put it on backwards - because I was OK as long as I couldn't see the buttons. Similarly the duvet on my bed always had to be turned the right way round so that the buttons of the duvet cover were as far away from me as possible.

It became less of an issue as I grew up as I could simply avoid wearing items with buttons most of the time - the duvet covers I have here have zips instead for example. But I had a sudden reminder the other day when I unpacked a cheap jumper that I had bought in a sale online and realised that it had a couple of decorative buttons on the sleeves which I had overlooked before ordering it. I was instantly filled with rage, got out the scissors and cut them off. I didn't care if that damaged the sleeves, I could always limit myself to wearing it at home if it looked a bit rough - but with buttons I was never going to wear it, ever.

Not all buttons are the same either. I'm perfectly fine with metal ones for example and don't mind wood quite as much. It's the round buggers made of plastic and with the four holes in the middle that really set me off for some reason. I suppose if it was actually an issue for me I could get over it, but as it is it's just an odd little quirk.

Before posting this, I thought I'd google the subject, and what do you know: I'm actually not alone! Though in me it's certainly not strong enough to be classified as a phobia, plus that article conflates buttons on clothes with buttons on machinery, which to me are totally different and unrelated things (we tend to have a different word for the latter in German as well).

While I've barely posted anything on here last year (at this point there are still more posts from 2015 on the blog's front page than posts from 2016), I do want to keep up the tradition of my annual "year in review" post. Time for those forty questions!

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Well, the die has been cast. I was wondering whether it was a dark omen that the day of the referendum saw torrential downpours across the South-East while thunder and lightning were roaring/flashing above. It was as if the sky itself was maddened by the stupidity of it all.

This morning then, the shock of the final result.

It didn't really hit me until I was walking to the train station and the tears started welling up. The rest of my day was spent in a sort of haze, interrupted by struggles not to burst into tears seemingly at random. I even forfeited most of my lunch break because whenever I had a moment to think, the tears started welling up again. At least work gave me something else to think about.

The company was doing damage control, sending out multiple official e-mails and making announcements about how we weren't all going to lose our jobs now. Though one of the HR ladies also addressed it from the other direction: "Please don't all leave now." There was some gallows humour on display, such as when a French colleague suggested that we arrange a bunch of fake marriages within the business to make sure everyone can stay. A well-meaning colleague from Brazil e-mailed around the link for how to apply for an EEA registration certificate. When I came home, I collapsed into a heap on the bed and spent the next ten minutes crying.

I'm infuriated that people can be so stupid. There may have been valid reasons to want to leave the EU, but they sure weren't being talked about while the Leave campaign was fearmongering and using the EU as a scapegoat for absolutely everything. Accordingly, a lot of people abused the referendum as a way to "stick it to the establishment", just to wake up the next morning and be confused about what they've done. See "The British are frantically Googling what the E.U. is, hours after voting to leave it" or "Man Who Voted for Brexit Is 'A Bit Shocked' His Vote Counted, Is Now 'Worried'".

I'm worried about what the future will bring, both for me personally and for the UK. As I've said before, I'm not necessarily worried about being forcibly evicted. But this whole thing definitely sets a very different tone and makes the prospect of continuing to live here a lot less appealing. Economic disasters loom at least in the short to mid term. I actually find myself wondering whether it would be smarter to go back to Austria. Not that I want to leave Mark... but this is big.

Finally, as someone who very much considers herself a EU citizen, I'm heartbroken by this vote of distrust towards the European Union and the complete and utter lack of appreciation on display for everything that Europe has achieved together. I also grieve for the time when I saw it as pretty much a given that I would continue to live and build myself an existence here. I feel as if someone I loved has died today.

Less than a month left until the UK will vote on whether to remain in the EU or leave it. I've been trying not to think about it too much, but it's hard to escape it now, what with the information/propaganda campaigns going into overdrive.

Politics have always been something very far removed from my everyday life. Just because you vote for a certain party or even a specific politician, that doesn't really guarantee that any particular laws will be made. Sure, they always make promises, but many of those will be broken - not even necessarily out of malice, but because politics are anything but straightforward.

This is the first direct vote I can recall that runs the risk of having an immediate negative impact on my quality of life. Since I'm an EU citizen, my right to live and work in the UK is entirely based on the UK being part of the EU. Now, I'm not saying that all foreigners will immediately get kicked out of the country if a majority votes to leave... but having to move back to Austria will suddenly become a very real possibility.

The other day someone I used to consider a friend made a big post on Facebook about how he was supporting the leave campaign and encouraging everyone to vote the same. I was surprised how hurtful that was. I know that EU citizens living in the UK aren't the reason he wants to leave, but it's hard to not take it personally when someone is campaigning for something that will directly result in you losing your right to remain in the country.

I can't decide whether I just want it to be over or would still prefer to avoid thinking about the whole matter entirely.

On Friday, after a very tiring week, I came home to find Mark telling me that our boiler wasn't working because it was showing a "low pressure" light. We weren't aware of any leaks this time but weren't sure what to do. I shot our landlords an e-mail but we spent the weekend being cold.

On Monday I got a call from a plumber hired by the landlord. I described the problem to him and he seemed oddly put out, making it sound as if this was something that I should know how to fix myself. I said that I didn't know anything about boilers and kept asking for an appointment. He agreed to come by on Wednesday morning, so I booked a half-day off.

I felt quite restless this morning, since I didn't want to start anything and then get interrupted by the plumber's arrival. When it was going on half ten I started to get nervous and tried to call him, but he didn't answer his phone. In somewhat irrational annoyance, I googled "why are plumbers so unreliable" and found a multitude of complaints from people, saying that apparently not showing up to appointments and being generally non-responsive is a major thing with tradesmen in the UK, since there is such a high demand for them that they can pick and choose their jobs and just ditch customers at the drop of a hat.

By eleven I had a good cry, because it had been a frustrating couple of days, I was cold, and I'd just had enough of it all. I considered trying to hire a different plumber privately, never mind the landlords, just to not be stuck in a cold flat for the entire Easter weekend. But if the plumber didn't want to take this job, would another one? How hard was this stuff anyway?

Through Google I found the information that boilers losing pressure over time is normal, that they may need repressurising a couple of times a year and that this can easily be done by a layman. After a bit of back and forth between an instructional video and trying to figure out which boiler pipe was which, I opened a valve for about five seconds... and that was it, everything was fine again.

Good things about this whole adventure:
- We are warm again and it didn't require any major work.
- I learned something new and useful.

Bad things about this whole adventure:
- We basically spent almost a week being cold for no reason.
- Having wasted half a day of precious holiday and being ditched for an appointment.

I've been commuting for a month now. I still don't like it, but I'm coping.

First there was the matter of finding the right train. I initially opted for the fast commuter train that goes straight to London after stopping at Chalkwell, but with my stop being the last one before the final destination it was always pretty full already, and after a few days of being unable to find a seat I'd had enough. Commuting is annoying enough as it is, but commuting while having to stand up the entire time is the worst. I eventually settled on a stopper that goes ten minutes earlier and takes longer to actually get to London - but it has the advantage that it's still blissfully empty when it arrives in Chalkwell, so I'm guaranteed to find a seat in a place of my choosing.

I'm always taking something to read with me, but I realised early on that at least on the way in, I generally tend to feel more like napping than reading. After ending up with a painfully distorted neck a few times, I started packing the neck pillow that I originally bought for plane flights - and a cleaning cloth for my glasses, since I inevitably end up with an eyeball inprint on one of the lenses once I've dozed off. The pillow is huge, but fortunately my "handbag" is a large messenger bag, so I can get away with taking a pillow with me.

I also switched to a c2c Smartcard, an electronic alternative to paper tickets. I was always fine with the paper tickets before, but a colleague pointed out to me that with us getting to work from home one day a week now, the daily fares actually end up being cheaper than buying a monthly season pass, and I didn't want to have to queue up for a ticket every single day. With the Smartcard I can buy them online in advance and then they automatically activate when I scan my card at the barrier.

Aside from saving me money on train fares, working from home on Wednesdays has helped to make the overall situation somewhat more bearable by providing a bit of a break in the middle of the week. I still have a full day's work to do, but it makes a huge difference to have those extra couple of hours that I would usually spend commuting, as it allows me to have a bit of a lie-in after two very tiring days as well as letting me catch up with housework.

The time has come! I've actually been looking forward to making this post because 2015 has been an interesting and overall positive year for me.

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For the first time since 2009 I spent Christmas in Austria with my family, and Mark came along for the ride.

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When I traipsed through the hallway on Monday morning, I stepped into something wet. I asked Mark if he had noticed or done anything that could have caused said wet patch, but his answer was negative. We were mildly intrigued but it didn't seem immediately worrying, so we went to work as normal.

By the evening, the wet patch had grown considerably, to the point that Mark had to spread one of our spare towels across the floor to soak up the worst of it, and the boiler wouldn't fire as a warning light indicated that water pressure was too low. Hrm. I e-mailed our landlords (an agency) to let them know that we appeared to have a leaky pipe. I also pointed it out to our downstairs neighbour, but nothing was showing on his ceiling (yet).

When the next morning I still hadn't heard anything from our landlords even after the agency had been open for several hours, I chased them about it. They said they'd hired a plumber and he'd be in touch with us directly. I chased the plumber. It was early afternoon by the time I got a hold of him. He said he'd come by on Thursday. I asked him if he couldn't make it any earlier. "You said you're not home right now, didn't you?" "Yes, I'm at work... but I can be home in half an hour!" "Nope, not fast enough. Can't fit you in. Thursday it is."

For two days, Mark and I lived the slightly subdued lives of people who have no hot water or heating in winter: wrapped up tightly at home, using the kettle a lot (it got more use in those couple of days than it had seen since we moved in, since neither of us drinks tea or coffee), engaging in awkward washing rituals in the morning. Mark also complained that my dry shampoo made my hair smell funny.

Thursday morning I was already standing by the open door the moment the plumber's van arrived. He pulled away the carpet, inspected the wet area and pointed out that there was water dripping down from the radiator. He pulled out a wrench, tightened a nut and it stopped. "Well, that was easy!"

I was simultanously relieved and embarrassed; though truth be told, since neither Mark nor I are DIY wizzes, we would have needed to call a plumber anyway, even if we had noticed that it was the radiator leaking.

Now I feel like I never want to turn the boiler off again.