Bald Eagle’s lost the remote.
We lost the TV remote the other night. Don’t ask me how it happened and certainly don’t ask me if we’ve found it, as the answer is a resounding no.
Stuff like this really winds me up. One moment it was there, the next, gone. Vanished. Without a trace.
It’s been lost three days now. THREE F***ING DAYS. I’ve naturally been in full detective mode since. I’m thinking about knocking on our neighbours doors and conducting door to door enquiries. How can something like this happen? HOW!?
Thankfully, it’s only our bedroom TV remote. It’s not worth thinking about if it was the living room remote. The investigation would be even more stringent and onerous.
I’ve had the mattress up four times. The washing basket emptied twice. The sock drawer emptied thrice and I’m still no nearer to cracking the case.
I do however, have a lead. And a damn good one at that. We had a maintenance man round the other day who came to look at a problem with our fridge. That’s neither here nor there really, but I have a damn convincing theory and this bastard’s definitely involved.
It’s come to my attention that a lot (not all) of tradesmen have “traditions,” when it comes to finishing work on a project. Some plumbers for instance like to christen the customers newly fitted toilet with a poo-like calling card. So it wouldn’t be outside the realms of possibility if this maintenance man had a penchant for stealing remote controls as a memento of his time at said property. I only let him out of my sight for thirty seconds…Precisely enough time for him to steal the remote from my bedside table and abscond into the night. Like the sneaky, controller thief he is.
It’s fair to say I’ve been anxious of late. My intrusions have been relatively low key as the recent lockdown has meant I’m not as susceptible to external factors that would normally worry me. Yet as society starts to reopen, I know that at some point, that will all change.
That being said, I’m actually excited for some normality. Some much needed socialising…So it’s a real strange equilibrium that I find myself trying to tackle.
Being this obsessed with finding this bloody remote is probably a by product of this underlying worry.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m definitely excited for that first post night out hangover. But I’m also acutely aware of Orlando, watching waiting and ready to pounce when I’m most vulnerable.
I’ve talked before about how my OCD revolves around upsetting or hurting people. Naturally, after another four months in lockdown, there’s a lot of friends and family to be seen, which is great. But I can’t help but worry about saying no to people and potentially offending them when there is a clash with plans. Of course that’s just life and there naturally will be clashes and things that you can’t attend. But it’s this potential to offend someone by saying no which makes me feel torn, anxious and a little bit nauseas.
The real punchline? These worries are completely exacerbated by me, in my own head.
As of this moment in time, there are no clashes. So in effect, I’m worrying about the worst case scenario. And realistically, is this the worst case scenario? Something to truly worry about? No. It’s not. But Orlando makes me feel otherwise.
My therapist helps me through these situations by making me realise that it’s okay to say no and sometimes, it’s okay to not offer a reason.
As society starts to reopen, there’s going to be a lot of new territory to cover and a lot of new norm’s to get used to. So grab a pint, relax and take things as they come.
Stay safe,
Bald Eagle
