...and don't panic! The Know brings you advice during housing
A true friend is always there for you, especially when you're drunk.
Miss Quit regresses to her childhood this week as the prospect of beginning the "University of Life" looms.
Having begrudgingly passed up what I was later told turned out to be, and I quote, “an ace night out even though you were being geeky and missed it”, I had been unconscious for a good seven hours until aforementioned mob returned.
Needless to say, I was less than thrilled. At around 3.37am, after voicing my displeasure, I made the decision to accept every single offer that came my way (that is, I would quit saying no) in a bid to become a 24-hour party person, effective from the moment I closed that damned paper. That would show them, I thought. The drunkards.
Like all thoughts that formulate in bed during the early hours of the morning, it seemed infallible. And then morning came…
More than usual, I thoroughly misjudged this week’s quit. I half blame it on the manic, giddy blur that is the first two weeks of term, and half on my never-ending attempts at optimism. All I knew was that exams were over, and I was ready to live again. The next 36 hours passed by in a pink-wine haze.
Yet, as I was bound to discover once sobriety hit, not all offers are made equal. I had opened myself up not only to all invitations, but all proposals, suggestions, requests, and advances. It wasn’t all carefree nights out and social-networking, oh no….
Some people just can’t say no. I am not such a person. If I am asked to do something that I don’t want to then (unless I am contractually obliged to or my sense of duty defeats me) I won’t do it.
The first corollary of Sod’s Law states that ‘if anything can go wrong then it will’. In this case, it was more ‘if anyone can harass you they will’. My biggest pet peeve, second only to pigeons, is being bothered whilst trying to walk down the street. With this in mind, journeying into town was not exactly the wisest move.
The day had been particularly stressful. What with rack after rack of generic, beige sickness trying to pass as summer high street clothing, persistent rain, and a skipped lunch, I was not in the best of moods. Wet and miserable, I trudged home with three separate copies of the Big Issue, after having stood in the street for twenty minutes giving my details to a guy who claimed to be doing a survey but looked suspiciously as if he wanted to steal my identity.
In the course of the week, I had signed myself up for such diverse activities as co-hosting a radio show, attending both Tai Chi and Salsa classes, fixing the broken fence in the garden so that the neighbours’ dogs couldn’t get in and leave their ‘presents’ on our lawn, and allowing my sister to borrow a favourite pair of shoes (which happened to be a size too small for her).
My social diary may have filled up quicker than my ballet pumps filled with rainwater (which was fast and lethal, may they rest in peace), but it was not worth the amount of leaflets that accumulated at the bottom of my handbag. Sometimes, you just have to say no, or even better, “no, please get away from me you scary, annoying person”.
It seems I really need to learn how to clarify my quits in the future….
Sounds like you should have read "Yes Man" by Danny Wallace before starting your quit this week - he gave up saying no for a year. Good book though. And I've heard it may soon be made into a film, but not sure if that's true or not.
Was this one inspired by Skins by any chance Moran? 
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