“Where Can I Put My Tissue?”
Apologies for a rather self indulgent, personal post. I guess it’s one for the category, “Futile Planning for the Future”.
I’ve just brought a cooker. I didn’t go out to buy a cooker. I went out to buy a bin for the counselling room in my flat. For some reason my clients don’t tend to get through a lot of tissues. I’ve been there since last November and I’ve only just opened the third box. However, as the room is binless, we sometimes have an awkward moment where the client will be holding a handful of used tissues and has to ask me where they can dispose of them. I normally relieve them of the tissues and flush them down the lavatory after they’ve gone. A £4.99 whicker bin cuts all that unnecessary business out.
So, I came out of B&M with my bin. And some towels. And some wine glasses (no more Blue Nun in a mug). And a multipack of Caramac for Steven. Next door to the bin shop is Curry’s and before I knew what I was doing, I was in store ordering a cooker. It was only after the customer engagement deputy manager (there’s no escaping them) went off to check on a delivery date, that I thought – ” Oh. I’ve just brought a cooker”.
There is a cooker in the flat. It is one of several items the previous owner threw in with the asking price. The cooker, like the display lights in the hall, is best filed under the heading, “He saw you coming mate”. The hob works and so does the grill but the oven doesn’t. In nine months, I’ve yet to cook myself a full meal. Now I can.
Why haven’t I brought a cooker before now? It’s not been a conscious decision but I know its all part of my obsession with trying to plan for Steven’s future. I know deep down that it is completely pointless and his future will be decided by a social care Panel and their accountants but it doesn’t stop me having endless sleepness nights as I try to ” tend to my affairs”.
Steven has a cooker in his house. So, I’ve reasoned that he won’t need a second one, if he is allowed to move into my flat (which by then will be his flat) after my demise. I’ll let you into a secret. In my bedside cabinet drawer is a list of furniture that Steven currently has and my idea whether he will use it when he moves into the flat or whether it gets sold or stored in the garage. It’s next to the folder containing the running order of Steven’s DVD sessions. Utterly Futile, but I like to think I’ve covered all bases.
I used to be, very much, a live for the present sort of chap. But since we’ve become trapped in adult services, so much of my attention is focused on the future. Trying to control the uncontrollable because Steven’s future seems so bleak if left in the hands of the professionals.
But what a daft way to live. To not buy a cooker for nine months because of something that will happen in (hopefully) many years from now is ludicrous.
He lives pretty much for each day. I need to start doing the same.
Does anyone know of any washing machines going cheap?
From → Social Care