I have been having the worst dreams. They are becoming alarming more wretched and graphic as the week progresses...

Last night it reached pique with a delightful (I lie) scenario. Me, trapped in a room, a large loud room where no one could hear me or get to me- I screamed so loudly that I somehow managed to puncture a large hole in my throat- I could feel it. It was bandaged up for me, after a girl I went to secondary school with helpfully described it as a vagina....

When I woke up I checked my throat- standing in front of my mirror, muttering to myself that I have lost it.

Thankfully my throat is where it should be.

Other dreams were more surreal, and not as troubling- in fact I shared them all over the world by text, to let people know I was alive and to show them that I'm still... mad.

A few suggestions filtered through- give up cheese, talk to someone, careful what you read before you fall asleep. But my favourite one, from a medical professional...

Can you be normal for like, two seconds? Thanks.

Just in case you didn't believe me...

The Sunday of Sundays.

I put off going out to get the paper for some time as it was raining and I dislike wearing socks, so inevitably my feet would get wet and angry at me- they are vocal beasts.

But sometimes you know you should do something so it will entertain you at a later date and I am glad I did- I learnt that Baz Luhrmann isn't gay, that New York is so exciting you can make a 32 page travel guide out of the writings of people showing off that their passport is current and that there is a man in Leitrim advertising for a wife- he wants her for one year, to live on Inishfree.

I do kinda wanna sorta need to email him to see if it is legit and to find out if he is a terribly romantic soul or if he just couldn't be bothered with putting some product in the hair and going on tinder- it's where all the kids are going nowadays darling. But at the end of the day- I admire  his pluck, and the fact that he has no problem giving marriage a timeline.

It was a story in a magazine that also had a plucked, quaffed and spackled photo of Joan Collins and her adolescent boy toy of a husband as one of it's main features... so maybe I should wait and see what comes of the whole thing....

Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

Maybe it's just me... maybe I read it wrong, but I certainly don't get what all the fuss was about.

I found it hard to actually finish this book to be honest, and that isn't something I usually experience- I will read anything (if my Goodreads library is anything to go by).

So as not to get too murky with spoilers lets just say;

There was one side to the story.

Then a second.

Then a tangent.

Then a "twist" which would make the Sci Fi channel cringe and then it ended.

That was the best part.

Knowing that it had to end.

Two stars might be kind actually.


View all my reviews

Finishing school?- FINISH HER.

The thing about solitude is- no one else is supposed to be there. I am supposed to be happily skipping around the shop, listening to my iPod a little too loudly minding my own daily mail (that is my code for BUSINESS) and I am supposed to be happy.

But today was different, today I came face to face with my nemesis. It was a collide of bodies, swear words (internal monologue) and galaxy minstrels. The person in question made eye contact and respectably said hello in a civil manner- which is just typical of them, always trying to make me feel like I am beneath them with their stupid face and hair and face.

I dealt with it in a mature and enlightening manner.

I stopped, looked and exclaimed- "Ahhhhhh!"

Before turning to the nearest exit.

Thank you internet; thank you for teaching me how to deal with the outside the world.

Or not.

Now- once I realised that I had in fact shouted in a person's face I felt slightly aghast at my behaviour- but then then the Nam flashbacks happened, the memories flooding from all sides and the reason for my behaviour was evident.

I liken it to the time someone told me James Franco was "beautiful".

Burying that body was a nightmare.

Even when it's at my finger tips....

With all the books, papers, magazines and online facilities I have within an arms reach- you'd think I would be more informed.

Today I spent the morning editing tirelessly- it's a slow and arduous task, not least because when I am tired and my spelling is the most woeful state of... (I just had to back and correct the word 'spelling'- good lord) vomit.

I love to read. I read until my eyes stop me, until I'm fast asleep and even then I am probably trying to finish the story in my overly stimulated head.

I find things online constantly that I want to read and know more about. I check a news website and see a related article and then I click on that, find something else shiny one page over and then BOOM- I'm on that cruel cruel mistress tangent ride that is Wikipedia.

In fact, I was just on the Irish Times website, fanning about and pretending to absorb some form of current event when I stumbled upon John Waters photo and by line, which threatening said- If you are reading this online, stop.

If ever there was a time to take stock, it's now. Mr Waters is watching.

With that in mind, I need to be more disciplined with my reading list on this tired computer if today is anything to go by, I have to learn to; Read or get off the pot. That may sound crude to you my delicate little flower, but if this madness continues there will be no novel for anyone and I will spend my entire life in a limbo of learning about things far worse than any theorem we memorised before going into the Leaving Cert.

I have decided that I need to empty that above image from my mind, my hard drive and my neglected reading list. He is like a poorly trained lover, you know he is there and if you're stuck... you'll give it a go. No idea why I made him male, that's for another day.

BUT NO MORE....

As soon as I learn all there is to know about this sport I just read about called curling...

God help me.

I think that the food in my fridge all hang out and are great friends when I close the door.

I think it's a mean girl society and they bitch and moan about the more popular things- like milk and cheese. The organic yoghurt that is only ever bought when I'm feel particularly guilty is always suicidal because... well, lets face it, it'll more than likely end up in the bin.

The condiments are cocky, arrogant and have no fear.

I hate ketchup.

NOAH Short | Short Cuts Canada | Festival 2013

Sometimes...

When I make a list of things to do... I leave off the most crucial task, this is because I enjoy a rebellion- even if it is against myself. Therefore if I don't add what I REALLY have to do onto the list and it might get done that day- it's all to do with psychology... Today I cleared out my wardrobe, it's a job I had been avoiding for a number of weeks and so last night my teenage self didn't remind my grown up self to do it and when I was supposed to be waxing my legs.... I cleaned out my wardrobe and compiled little regret bundles. Everyone has some of those, and if they tell you they don't, they're lying. Little scraps of clothes you never want the world to see, or more importantly- to see you in. But you will keep them in case of... some sort of post apocalyptical fashion crisis, Kimora Lee Simmons, Calvin Klein, Givenchy or Tom Forde may call on YOU... and want to know if you have that vomit green cardigan with the puffed up sleeves that will save the princess from the polyester pod people. All of this could happen. Anyway, I'm glad I blogged today. I meant to last week. This was when I was supposed to do a wash load. To conclude, I will go into my afternoon with one waxed leg (I forget my wimpish pain threshold) and no clean delicates. I have achieved.

Where have all the pants gone?

I don't ever want to begin a blog with; In my day things were different, but... In my day, things were different. A girl had money, and could afford pants, then she wore pants. Lets leave all VMA performances out of it- because I am pretty sure that you haven't been living under a rock and you know that one of the young people went a little crazy and disappointed their parents- they weren't mad, just... disappointed. I want to know where all the pants in the world have gone, are we sending them away to warmer climates? Is there a shortage in Australia and we need to provide them with trousers? Or is it now acceptable to not wear pants because... legs are good enough without them? I am not sure I want to live in a world like that.

If only it were true.

It's right there...

Scratching.

I have a kind of worry, the kind that you don't know where it came from and (more importantly) do not know how to get rid of it.

I need to work on it because it is causing my mind to wander, my eyes to glaze over and my nails to scratch my poor arm when I am daydreaming.

Aint nobody got time for that.

Wine, cheese, bread, wine, wine, prosecco and wine.

This is my Ernest Hemingway blog- so don't worry, it'll be beautiful and make perfect sense.

Did you have a good day?

I spent it dealing with nothing and then worrying about everything all at once. I have so much to write and yet everytime I sit down to do it- it never happens.

but... WORRY NOT....

I will procrastinate right here and it will all get done or it won't get done at all and I will fill my mind with youtube videos of cats... even though I hate cats.

I am going to call my mother more...

and tell her I hate cats.

There is always an issue when technology is an ass...

I am not a dramatic person.

But someone will die tonight.

And it will be my Mac.

Or Apple TV.

Or an innocent bystander who just happens to smile and so me the wrong teeth- I am very particular about these things.

Some opinions worth your time...

http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/vidhya-ramalingam/woolwich-attack-edl-violence_b_3326463.html

http://www.russellbrand.tv/2013/05/woolwich/

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I have a very bad right-between-the-eyes headache. It's distracting me, which is very welcome today.

Every time I come on here the counter has gone up, and I wonder if it's internet fairies (Nigerian princesses needing emancipation, marketing research and miscalculating the keyboard during a late night porn scavenger hunt notwithstanding). I like to think that when you write something it does disappear somewhat. Goes to this place where nothing is really judged- but then I realise that I am a very cynical person and that would do me and everyone else no good.

Two of my best friends, a facile term when I try and sum up the relationship in my head, lost their mother today- who fought cancer with such dignity and class I will admire her until my last day on this planet.

When we try and think of a person with one label- we often go with the most obvious thing that comes to mind; mother, father, sister, brother, girlfriend, partner, husband, wife.... but then you have the luck of meeting those with limitless labels. The woman that passed away with peace today wasn't just a mother of five, grandmother of one busy bee, a sister of five or a wife of one. She was a mentor, teacher, advisor and an excellent problem solver when things were looking bleak.

My memories are warm and lovely, no need for regret in them. A hungover morning of hiding under a duvet when she sat on the edge of the bed telling me (or threatening....) about the cliff walk that we would take as soon as everyone was ready... or the eager questions she had about my stories and what was in my head. Her hunger and interest was something I will always look for in others for the rest of my life. And strive to keep in mind for myself.

I'm going to go to bed now. Sadder than I was this morning, but knowing someone you admire so much isn't in pain tonight can give me some comfort,

Brrr.....

There is something wrong with our weather...

I am wearing layers, on my bed, with a blanket over me and I am considering a hot water bottle...

It's the weather or me.

And I refuse to accept the latter.

Things I like.

Old is the new black...

I want another tattoo and therefore I have been online- trawling through Google images, looking at things that I know I will never be brave enough to actually get.

I love the idea of something old and vintage looking (god damn hipsters... they've ruined us all).

meltdownmillie.com

One of the nicest people I know has a blog- and becauase I am such a terrible friend, I only discovered its existence this morning. I recommend it to everyone- unless you cannot read and you find this post offensive... if you do, I apologise. It's pretty, and funny and very very Stephanie!

So check it out and giggle- meltdownmillie.com

We're still moving... I promise...

It's just taking alot longer than I imagined it would. Could be because I am a hopeless procrastinator that has just discovered Dawson's Creek on Netflix.... or could be down to the fact that I actually have a writing project with a grown up deadline. In a ridiculous notion of self preservation I thought that the best thing to do was actually copy and paste everything from this blog to a new space- revamp and renew. I want the new in with the old and then there is no chance of messing things up- seriously, that is what my head thought. I dislike clean slates- it makes me anxious and decidedly unnerved. When I am unnerved, I cannot sleep and when I cannot sleep I avoid anything practical and start to colour co-ordinate my wardrobe, re-watch the Gilmore Girls and knit. All in all I believe that I have a stable future in being completely unstable when it comes to change. I even worry about leaving this blog space. What if the new blog doesn't like me? What if all the other blog templates are mean to me? What do I do when I want to stop all the Russian spam from invading my non existent comments board. WHAT TO DO, WHAT TO DO, WHAT TO DO.... In a bid for sanity; today is the first day of the week and the rest of my organised existence. I have been feeling off all morning, lack of sleep and fluids making my head throb and my eyes hurt. Once I solved these issues, I sat in front of the hardest working person in my life, my laptop (not a word) and proceeded to write. I wrote fiction, fact and bits in between for over an hour, re-read and deleted, edited and sighed over it and then I saved it in a draft and promised myself that it will make for a perfect first entry of my new blog. Then I came down off my peanut butter m&m high and decided that by wanting to go and do new things, I shouldn't neglect the old, and I came here... To delete my Russian spam.

hu? HU?

I don't understand why my blogspot blog has transferred itself over here.... but rest assured I am on it- plus... WE'RE MOVING. By we... I mean me, and my poor poor thoughts. I have been archiving alot of posts lately- bated breath and it will all be completed soon.

Not playing safe...

I shall now do the Times crossword; using only my mind and a pen. A PEN... no pencil round here.

It's awful weather, isn't it?

I love when the sky is full of rain and it's so windy it pushes you to your destination- once it isn't under a car or anything... When the sky is grey with a kiss of pink and looks for pretty but is still quite wild- it's deceptive.

I know talking about the weather is seen as a means to drag yourself through a conversation when you haven't much else to say to the other person- but I do have alot to say and do... in fact I have too much to do and say at times and I find it quietly intimidating. So I distract myself by discussing the weather with.... no one in particular. I haven't been sleeping very well for- quite some time. I usually spend my night reading and then eventually dropping off through sheer exhaustion. Then I wake suddenly and forget why I can't sleep in the first place because it is such a peaceful thing. I plan on taking up sleep as a hobby and mastering it over the next couple of months. I think if I focus on it like a practice of something to perfect then maybe I'll win. After all- there are only so many books in the world.... and my read bundle is piling up... with books I almost know by heart.

The busy outweighs the shuffle.

I completely flaked on the plan, the experiment, the idea- I would like to say this isn't something that usually happens to me, but alas.... We have new babies in the family! Two. One boy- big (I say big... under 8lbs) and brawn with huge eyes and hands that fascinate him and one little woman who likes her cuddles and to worry her new parents through day and night while she gets used to the big world around her. They both are beautiful of course, and so different and alike at the same time it's hard to tell where the excitement of one of them begins and the other ends. Parents are elated and seem to be talking more softly now that they are here- men that I have never really thought as overly affectionate- although always kind, are now smitten with tiny bundles wrapped in blankets that sleep more than anything. Things have changed hugely and yet it feels like both of them have been around far longer than any birth cert can prove. They will be great characters I think, and will keep everyone on their toes... it's their jobs for the next 20 years or so.

To not shuffle.

I have 8249 songs on my iPod at the moment. I don't like enough sounds to warrant such a library and I have decided its time to set a challenge for myself. I always sit here with the idea of listening to music and the same thing happens each time- I listen to the same couple of hundred, Frank, the Beatles, FOB and a bit of classical... every so often I'll have a moment and turn on Beyonce or a film soundtrack, but generally I am the beige thing here. I don't seem willing to change when it comes to my own musical preference. And so from today on- I will not shuffle, like a soldier I will battle through over 8000 songs, never once hitting repeat, skip or "shuffle". This means all stray Sugar Babes, banished Backstreet Boys, neglected Nirvana (it's not for the good of my health I write this you know?) will have to be listened to and appreciated as if they came off the White album itself- that is taking it a tad too far, but if I deemed it alright to sync, it's alright to play. The rules are simple, during work, periods of writing and when I am reading I cannot select a song- I cannot go search an artist or select an entire album. I have to brave the unknown and in the end- delete everything offensive to my ears. I pray I managed to get rid of all the Mariah before this experiment.