It's never too late to daydream

2012-02-10T13:31:00.000Z

Twain had it figured out.

2012-01-26T15:25:00.003Z

Mark Twain, in a sort of witty, yet telling mood gives a hand to an aspiring gentleman with a list. A list of rescue etiquette- should it ever be needed in the event of a fire. Note: he makes sure not to discriminate throughout....

1. Fiancées.
2. Persons toward whom the operator feels a tender sentiment, but has not yet declared himself.
3. Sisters.
4. Stepsisters.
5. Nieces.
6. First cousins.
7. Cripples.
8. Second cousins.
9. Invalids.
10. Young-lady relations by marriage.
11. Third cousins, and young-lady friends of the family.
12. The Unclassified.

Other material in boarding house is to be rescued in the following order:

13. Babies.
14. Children under 10 years of age.
15. Young widows.
16. Young married females.
17. Elderly married ditto.
18. Elderly widows.
19. Clergymen.
20. Boarders in general.
21. Female domestics.
22. Male ditto.
23. Landlady.
24. Landlord.
25. Firemen.
26. Furniture.
27. Mothers-in-law.

What did I do before the internet?

2012-01-19T23:44:00.001Z

Google, google on the screen...

2012-01-17T19:06:00.004Z

If you are, like myself, wandering the abyss that is the internet and decide to use the search engine Google- you will find it is a fantastic way to learn about the specie of man, or woman... as the case may be.

Type in "how can I" and the below top four will pop up, in the same order.

...get a boyfriend.

...lose weight fast.

...make money.

...delete my Facebook.

Now, if that isn't a good overall summary of the internet, I don't know what is.

Because if you think about it…. you lose weight, make more money, automatically gain more confidence and that AMAZING guy you've have always known was waiting for you appears. BAM BOOM… delete Facebook, you don't need to stalk anymore.

1,2 and now 3

2012-01-17T16:41:00.004Z

I have just downloaded the final piece of the Memphis 3 documentary,Paradise Lost 3: Purgatory. This is the final hurdle in the chronicle that was the child killing scandal that hit the USA 19 years ago this year.

I remember when I watched the first documentary, Paradise Lost: The Child Murders at Robin Hood Hills; taking away from it, the shock of the photos of dead innocent children on the screen and the clear lack of evidence to put these three teenagers behind bars, I was left with rolling credits, loud Metallica music and a feeling that the next one would be just as good and leave me even more angry with the American justice system.

So I quickly sought out and found the second installment, Paradise Lost 2: Revelations. This time I wasn't really left feeling in anyway different, has I had imagined would be the case. The law was wrong, innocent people were being tortured in what could be called the most unlawful injustice in years and three boys were still dead.

But, and I know this isn't something many people would have an issue with, I had a problem with the portrayal the film makers brought about. Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofsky, albeit it very talented men behind a camera like to play the conductor of the orchestra as well.

Without strictly pointing the finger, they very much point their camera in the direction of one man- the erratic, strange and volatile John Mark Byers. This man couldn't have played into the documentary makers hands any better than if he actually went into supposed detail about what "probably happened" before the little boys were eventually murdered (think Joe O' Reilly, when he liked to give people a tour of the home he shared with his wife before she was brutally murdered one morning- he was later found guilty of the crime).

Byers, in the first film, brings the camera and filmmakers with him to the crime scene, imagines what it is his step son went through in that cold, desolate and lonely place and then describes the pain he would inflict on the killers- if they were to ever get out of prison.

In the second film, Byers is more alone and more vocal then ever before. We read on screen that his wife, Melissa had passed away the year before filming had taken place- her death was still undetermined but they had confirmed at the time that it was drug related, which was apparently no surprise to her second husband.

We are told there are numerous explanations for Byers no longer having his own teeth- three scenarios are told- all by Byers during the filming and he that doesn't seem to bother him in the slightest. And the audience are met with more personalities of Byers than anyone could due comfortable with.

Quiet and unassuming one moment, to impassioned, religious and tortured the next. He spoke calmly to the specialist dealing with his lie detector test and yet had no problem getting up close and personal out the courthouse with the supports of the West Memphis 3. His behaviour was not something that could be safely put into one category and for that he was the dream candidate for the answer in whodunnit film making.

Most of the evidence in the initial case is moot at this point when it is now heavily criticised for it's lack of moral foundation in the first plea, the lawyers themselves had been paid by Berlinger and Sinofsky for their part in the first film. Making their integrity on screen seem that bit more blurry now.

But all that aside, the second film left a bad taste in my mouth. I felt the film makers agenda was two fold. Paint the, rightful, picture of innocence to the fallen and more worryingly use their powers to set blame down.

Granted I too feel that there is something "not quite right" about Byers, I am not about to fuel his ego by allowing him to star in his own film, and I am certainly not going to accuse the man of something no one can be sure of.

The worst part of this story is the glaring fact that there can be no happy ending. Dozens of lives have been destroyed and three little boys were murdered before they could even learn to live.

The final installment of the documentary has just been released and with the remnant cheers of the crowds in Arkansas welcoming home the three men who's lives were ruined forever when they were arrested for a crime they did not commit the problem in Paradise Lost is still hanging over the audience all the same.

Who is the killer.

What do you see?

2012-01-17T02:06:00.003Z

Did you know that the above blotting is actually called a Rorschach? (pronounced "roar" like how we respond to the television when we worry about the plight and so obvious demise of one Sherlock Holmes, and "shack" similar to the term used for the majority of college accommodation).

This guy named Hermann Rorschach thought this inkblot test was impressive enough to name it after himself and from then on (1921) people have been staring at these things hoping that by seeing the very obvious penis they haven't walked right into the label of mental case.

When I look at this one I see all types of naughty things- but I aint telling you that.

I'm a lady.

(vagina....penis.... gaping...oh my)

Mystic.....?

2012-01-15T16:55:00.002Z

Years ago I read my horoscope... and it basically said I would have the worst week of my life. And so the week began, I was a mess by Tuesday, in despair by Thursday and I decided not to get out of bed on the Saturday. Sunday night, nothing had happened all week- bar the add on of about ten grey hairs.

So today I mustered up the courage and read from the classier papers (The Sunday Times), and my star sign said the following;

Something vague will happen this week. It will either be positive or negative. That is up to you.

And so the week begins....

2012-01-13T22:47:00.000Z

2012-01-13T22:43:00.003Z

Once upon a time there was a lady. This lady needed to ring Meteor Customer Care about her phone, three hours later, she decided that communication had become too frequent in this futuristic world and had returned to letter written.

She had always admired Jane Austen, and couldn't stand stupidity.

The end.

Yes.

2012-01-13T14:49:00.000Z

Anne Sexton.

2012-01-12T21:13:00.002Z

I hope the book is..... nicer than I think it's going to be.

I sighed...

2012-01-11T16:10:00.001Z

Found this post in my favourite website....

Wednesday, 11 January 2012

Nothing good gets away

In Novemeber of 1958, John Steinbeck — the renowned author of, most notably, The Grapes of Wrath, East of Eden, and Of Mice and Men — received a letter from his eldest son, Thom, who was attending boarding school. In it, the teenager spoke of Susan, a young girl with whom he believed he had fallen in love.

Steinbeck replied the same day. His beautiful letter of advice can be enjoyed below.

(Source: Steinbeck: A Life in Letters; Image: Thom and John Steinbeck with their father in 1954, courtesy of UC Berkeley.)

New York
November 10, 1958

Dear Thom:

We had your letter this morning. I will answer it from my point of view and of course Elaine will from hers.

First—if you are in love—that’s a good thing—that’s about the best thing that can happen to anyone. Don’t let anyone make it small or light to you.

Second—There are several kinds of love. One is a selfish, mean, grasping, egotistical thing which uses love for self-importance. This is the ugly and crippling kind. The other is an outpouring of everything good in you—of kindness and consideration and respect—not only the social respect of manners but the greater respect which is recognition of another person as unique and valuable. The first kind can make you sick and small and weak but the second can release in you strength, and courage and goodness and even wisdom you didn’t know you had.

You say this is not puppy love. If you feel so deeply—of course it isn’t puppy love.

But I don’t think you were asking me what you feel. You know better than anyone. What you wanted me to help you with is what to do about it—and that I can tell you.

Glory in it for one thing and be very glad and grateful for it.

The object of love is the best and most beautiful. Try to live up to it.

If you love someone—there is no possible harm in saying so—only you must remember that some people are very shy and sometimes the saying must take that shyness into consideration.

Girls have a way of knowing or feeling what you feel, but they usually like to hear it also.

It sometimes happens that what you feel is not returned for one reason or another—but that does not make your feeling less valuable and good.

Lastly, I know your feeling because I have it and I’m glad you have it.

We will be glad to meet Susan. She will be very welcome. But Elaine will make all such arrangements because that is her province and she will be very glad to. She knows about love too and maybe she can give you more help than I can.

And don’t worry about losing. If it is right, it happens—The main thing is not to hurry. Nothing good gets away.

Love,

Fa

Wow.... neglectful.

2012-01-11T02:33:00.008Z

It's not like i haven't been thinking about you, wanting to see how you're getting on in the world. It's just.... I realised if I logged in here I would have to say something- something quippy and smart.

I am not a quippy and smart kinda gal 24/7- it's something I could definitely work on.

So the thing is...

2011-06-24T12:50:00.002+01:00

I am having a duvet day and while I do have this ever sought after experience I have decided to watch the torturous first season of Sex and the City. I call it research, others may call it sad.

I am in my mid twenties- I have a normalish social life and I work full time in a well paid enoughish job. But this show tells me that I must now be doing something terribly terribly wrong.

Carrie Bradshaw has convinced an entire generation that she can survive as a lowly journalist and still wear the latest fashion, live in a non bed sit type apartment and get all the men she can spread her legs like butter for.

I just don't get it.

Horse face gets more men than the rest of us? Is that fair? Even in a fictional world of materialism I find it somewhat offensive that I am to believe that her life is in fact believe able.

Apparently, if this show it to be believed and as I have spent the last hour and a half doing so.... all romance has physics... I would have said it was more a chemical challenge (I'd need to be all kinds of loaded to want to wake up with Sarah Jessica long face... harsh).

The main difference after the fact that I don't actually believe this world exists is the fact that women are so obsessed with having that man at that time in that life.

Do you remember when you were in school and you thought all your teachers were this strange creatures? People you could never imagine yourself being? Or when you were 13 and you thought by the time you would be 25 your whole world would be decided to mapped out (sweet jesus).

I think now that I have reached that milestone I will have it all planned by about 60....

and with that.... I turn off the television.

I keep painting and repainting my nails...

2011-03-03T15:27:00.003Z

The first time I did it was out of sheer boredom; but then I found that they didn't look good enough- I'd like to consider it perfection but I know it's because I'm annoyed.

I can always do my left hand just right- which is no problem given that I am right handed and then when I venture over, the other scope of the equator as it were; that's when we have an issue.

I can't keep my left steady enough, my right is almost smug. "I did this sooooooo much better than you".

It seems I am the proud owner of adolescent extremities.

2011-02-25T23:20:00.001Z

I had a dream.

2010-12-05T15:29:00.002Z

In the park I am sitting with a friend with the aimless ramblings floating over us in a kind of hidden wash. Cut to home where shouting and screaming drills through the walls, no source, no anger just me.

Kitchen, I wake.

For the first time in my 24 years I realised I was a sleep walker.

Until it's too late...

2010-12-05T00:48:00.002Z

I have always been a guilty worrier. Since I can remember to worry I have. The person who smiles daily and has it right up to their eyes- I am jealous of them. In fact I would go as far to say I hate them in some small measure.

We are allowed have a bad day, or month, or hour, minute, phase, episode; whatever. Not because of hormones, but just because we are human. I forget that. Things look good and therefore nothing can possibly be wrong. It's because of the angle we watch things from, a certain height can make the biggest of problems thumbnail sized. I just happen to stare at it until takes over. Slamming and thumping into all other aspects of everything with such force the bruises will never go away.

I walked around Cork this morning and it was good, nice, free. I needed that. I think escape is my favourite fantasy. The happily ever after for my character will probably consist of the the great escape soundtrack, bad hair and hopefully no barbed wire episodic threats circa Steve McQueen....

Poor neglected blog.... how I missed you

2010-11-02T23:03:00.002Z

Im sorry blog, it has been a while and I know I am to blame. Never answering your calls, avoiding your texts, walking to the other side of the street when I see you approaching- none of it is justified, just know that I knew you were here the whole time waiting.

We moved. Into an apartment with new fresh white walls, big furniture, a suspect kettle, a nice carpet, TWO bathrooms and a nice view from every angle. I will be okay here I think. It's on the top floor and you need two different types of keys to get in- bogie man take that.

Work stays the same, a misused outlet for strict creativity... we take the photo of the natural baby in the natural shot... posed.

My phone broke- this may seem like a tiny thing to the normal person, but my replacement phone remainds me of a time when I wasn't so okay with things, not so happy- the sky wasn't up and the ground wasn't beneath my feet. We will need to fix this immediately.

I sit here in my room feeling bad for not having been here in a while. Not even on this blog but just not having checked in with myself long enough to type about things that are real, that I can touch, feel, smell and see. Fiction is all well and good but too much of it will probably blind me- I should let that happen when I am alot older, surrounded by tesco trollies in my council flat down by the quays- give me something to look forward to.

I'll be back soon, promise.

If one is to wait for a sign...

2010-09-17T02:37:00.001+01:00

I made a decision today- waiting for a sign is a completely useless exercise if action is the desired effect from the overall experiment- that makes sense, just read back on it for a minute. I swear.

I want to do things with people, to share the experience, but perhaps that is the wrong way to look at these things? Maybe the experience I have all by myself is the beneficial thing I should look for.

That's why I went to Rome, see the film I want to see, go out shopping even if others are busy. Be damned with the idea to be alone for a moment is to be lonely, that is not the case. I don't have to prove it, I don't have to will my phone to ring in a coffee shop while I sit by myself. I should be content with myself. After all when everything is done and dusted I am all I have.

Which shouldn't sound like the massive let down that I have implied! I have myself that's a great thing! I think I am OK most of the time when the crippling self doubt isn't messing everything else up.

Embrace and enjoy- it's a novel idea. But a bit sketchy in practice.

Weight of the words.

2010-08-21T12:39:00.002+01:00

It is not because other people are dead that our affection for them grows faint, it is because we ourselves are dying. Marcel Proust.

I read that this morning when I took a break from house hold chores. It made me sad in a way. I wondered if it was in fact true. The person gone is perhaps not the person lost at all? I don't like that notion at all! It makes me think I am wasting something. I shouldn't sleep in, I shouldn't read that book for a second (or third) time, I shouldn't turn up the television because the birds outside are chirping over the modern drone....

But then- that might be another wrong way of looking at it. There are a multitudes of ways to mess up- so surely in that same vein there must be as many ways to get it right.

I know I have more than one smile, more than one tear and DEFINITELY more than one mood. So maybe I'm not dying Proust. Maybe I am growing further out of field.

The moral might be to perhaps not weigh too heavily on the words a man wrote while he was probably still in bed...

And the week that has been..

2010-08-12T14:55:00.002+01:00

I feel drained in a way, yet completely rested and calm. It's a ridiculous paradox in a stream of alot of mid day naps, day dreams and searches. Spending over €40 in a second hand bookshop solely on poetry books was the most rewarding part of the week. Realising I don't HAVE to be someone's beck and call at every turn. Find your own feet in a place that's scary- it's all ok to do.

New places to see and go to are helping me tolerate myself alot more. Travelling can be a solo opportunity- and how bad?!

Sometimes I don't like who I am in Cork city- I feel a little lost and vulnerable. Anywhere else in the world I can get through most situations without having to run to someone for advice- why is that? That place is supposed to be my home! But it doesn't feel like it anymore, I don't have a concrete there- no where to stand comfortably.

But maybe it's my surroundings that is causing the problem- ergo we move out. Albeit we not move far...

In fact... I don't think we're going to need a car for this adventure....

Very good, now again.

2010-07-12T01:07:00.006+01:00

It's fair enough to say that blogs are pretentious- they have to be.

If I wasn't a wanker I wouldn't spend time writing and then thinking others would actually want to sit down and read it. I am not ridiculous- I don't think you will truly gain anything from what I have to say- but I gain things. Sometimes it's additional thought- or a worry, or a moment in repetition because it was that damn good I want to do it all over again

What would you do all over again if you had the chance? Would hindsight rear up on it's back legs with such force you'd decide against it because of the risk- or would you tight rope ahead and feel that feeling again. The adrenaline rush of achievement, the tears of joy, the scream of triumph, the sigh of content.All the wonderful things that package us together and make the handle with care all the more prevalent.

To repeat is to go back and try and not change, to stay in the same place-would you want that? or would you, like me, worry about going back and messing it up. A world of uncertainty at a hypothetical notion seems a little childish wouldn't you think? Well that's me and that is ironically unchanged. But other things move on, other things evolve or morph into difference, that's why we are here isn't it? That's why I write more, you read more and then you move on again. If you really had such a brilliant day would you do the exact same thing again in the hope of achieving same, or would you do it differently in the hope that you could better the feeling.

I think that's the conundrum (I love that word today and have said it at all given opportunities). Do I want brilliance of the same or do I want safety in the constant. We spend so long happy to complain about our mediocrity that I think we forget that it is us that can do something about the change we want.

Up off the ass and move- that's what someone important said once. I think.

Sex.. ha that got your attention

2010-07-06T16:47:00.000+01:00

Jungians would explain sex dreams as a symbolic of the attraction to and urge to merge with polar opposites. So, it can refer to wholeness, psychological completion; union of different aspects of yourself. Frightening, oppressive or unpleasant sexual dreams often relate to repressed or unresolved spiritual problems.
Dreams of having sex and or orgasm are normal […]

The best sex dream I ever had, hands down was the most inappropriate twenty minutes of my life.

I awoke breathless, ragged and grateful that I had not allowed any friends to sleep over the night before. It would seem a wanton woman lies in the sleeping mind of my dream eye.

Freudians would interpret sex dreams as some infantile sexual wish or attitude. Waking event will not enter your dreams unless related to deep-seated feelings or attitudes. Any conflicts about sexuality will be reflected in sex dreams. Many sex dreams are heavily disguised as other activities. For instance, going in or through a back door can represent anal intercourse.

The most socially in acceptable thing of the whole scenario was that the sandman believed it Fey to allow the leading man to be a comforting friend out of the sleep tight comfort zone. A friend, a man I would look on in the most platonic of fashion and a person I would never dreamt (bad choice of word) to possess such an appendage as the male form. However it would seem possess it so shall do and do it well.

The sex dream encapsulates the wanton soul of the person who is inhabiting the fantasy. it does not reflect the idea of belonging or desire, merely the idea that the relationship has changed focus in recent times. This means I am not crazy, in the instance my mind is just coming to terms that I have a friend that I seemingly don't want to shag. Apparently not dreaming about ripping your clothes off and doing it on one of my best friend's bed is when one should start to have concerns.

Therefore research for this particular blog started on the internal scale. What had I to eat the night before that caused such thoughts? Were my pillows at an unusual angle? Did I have a fever? Am I so lustful driven that not even a platonic loved one is safe?

The fitful dreams of a lady of the night; that's how I will be known. Is my mind safe to let me rest.

I'll let you know how it goes tonight.

grrr

2010-06-20T17:22:00.002+01:00

Lately I have definitely felt that I have needed to change something- I worried about being fickle and that the only person I was actually punishing was myself.

It's true, that's the exact way of it.

But yesterday and today I realised something and I am lighter because of it- not to have too much of an Oprah moment or anything, but I don't actually need anyone other than myself to function- why have I always thought the opposite? I am 24 years old! I don't need a routine, or a rut as it has become known to me. If I have an opinion and I feel it in my gut that it is right then why shouldn't I stick to my guns? I can do things by myself. I have challenged myself in the last year and tried to consider things that I would never have dreamt of attempting before now.

It's ok that I do not understand people- they rarely take the time to understand me so it can lead to a bit more of a balanced existence- hopefully!

It's the culling process I have mentioned before, I really need to stick to the aforementioned guns. It won't always be pleasant, but I think it will be good for me.

I sit here at home in the sun while my mother is gardening in the over grown jungle we like to refer to as "the lawn", my father and brothers are trying to bring in the hay bales today as everyone is going back to their "real jobs" tomorrow and my sister is... well she's married now so she doesn't count (joke...cough).

My mother's ideas of human behaviour are always what I try best to stand by- if you are being treated unfairly and are not being viewed for who you are then you need to get out of the situation while you are still able to walk away comfortably.

She's the hairdresser of my split ends it would seem... but I think it's going to take a little longer for me to like the idea.

2010-06-12T00:44:00.002+01:00

It's been a day of busy heads and fast thoughts- but a good conclusion.

I feel alot of sorting out and tidying must be done this Summer. Unhealthiness must be culled out of my diet and mind. I know what I want and who I want with me while i achieve it- unfortunately i means a few more distasteful "we need to talk" conversations...

but it's all for the greater good.

whatever that is!

Is it ok?

2010-06-11T00:29:00.001+01:00

I just realised I have this blog four years... odd.

I remember the day I started it and why and it's funny because all those problems are gone- wrapped up neatly and tightly stored under the bed.

But the stuff that is messing it up now...

it's everywhere.

A day of words and silence padded throughout with a misrepresentation of my own thoughts-

2010-06-11T00:15:00.002+01:00

there's a mouthful for you.

I think I have an idea of where my head should be at each day. On a day off I should sleep until a certain time and then engage in social outings, be it alone or otherwise. I conform to what my own head tells me is right- laughably I attempt rebellion.I'll try and snap out of myself and be sensible and try as I might I will not achieve as much as I ever would have deemed acceptable.

the way I misunderstand people reflects hugely on the way I feel of late. I really do not get you. I do not understand the lingers, the thoughts and the emotions- it frustrates me as I realise that I am most certainly broken. No doubt the normals feel what the weirdos cannot. I dislike bundles "we, they, us, them". Each is singular, do not lump me with you, I am not an us, a them, a we or they. I wish I was, oh god I wish I was. But I am a me, an I... I'll get used to it if you will.

Today I wrote my obituary- I can't actually tell you why I did this. An experiment a trained professional will no doubt raise his heavily cynical eyebrow at- but I did it. I may publish it here. Once I see myself pass the idea of my fictional and fantastical death- I am stomped to death by a heard of over sized Koala bears in the middle of the giants causeway while marching for the freedom of incarcerated pigeons all over the world.

In case you were wondering.

tick

2010-06-07T23:20:00.002+01:00

It's like a bash in the head- this series of nothing. An ambition that is so far out of reach the height above my head is laughable, craning neck worth of silliness. I wish I had a plan, a responsibility, a notion, a helpful hint as to what it is I should be doing right now.

I should write, I know this, I know I should and it would be in my ultimate best interest to steady my hand and my mind and pen to paper in the most modern of forms and shelf every other issue in my head.

But I can't.

I lack the the lustre of steadiness. I miss things, people, thoughts and memories. I don't understand the simplest of people and am truly perplexed by my own head right now. Is that OK? Writeable- No.

A plan for the Summer, we all make them. They are the new years resolutions we try to rekindle. I have a reading list, a set of challenges and a bravery gauge I wish to undertake in order to what exactly? Why am I putting a time limit on things. I can still achieve these things if it is raining outside and dark before 6pm. I am not a child, the Summer freedom is not an easy breeze now- it doesn't exist.

I think I hate the people I love as well as like, loathe and tolerate them. I am an all rounder in terms of emotions it would seem and the only person who can stand by it for long enough and put up with the motion sickness? ah, that will just be me then.

Sit in a room with the clock ticking, the time drips off the wall like rebellious paint which point blank refuses to dry- but I will watch it. Sitting in a old musky chair so past it's youth of fashion it is unrecognisable in function. Waiting for... the wall to paint the right colour? The paint to drip off completely and puddle at my bare feet in the hope of colouring something? The batteries to run out and the ticking to stop?

Or am I waiting for nothing, but am so far beyond realising that there is nothing to wait for that I hide it.....

A letter to no one

2010-05-29T19:13:00.002+01:00

I am a letter to no one
A cry in the dark
A knock on the door of an empty house.

It's an eventuality of fiction that everything has to end, and more so now reality bangs up and stops us in our tracks. A song, a play, a book, a meal, a conversation, a wistful giggle at the most wonderful moment. To last forever is to morph it into a constant. A thing that we take and take but never think about it until it has run out and we are left without.

It goes for good and bad, light and heavy, the weak and the strong. We last forever in one way and never exist in another. A thought to dwell on and ponder but not in a worrying strife. Perhaps we know too often when things will change, and thus like it that bit more.

My hair never behaves better than on the day it will have the chop. A book never gets so good until the final chapter. Some one's smile is always brighter on the final boarding call of a flight embarking halfway across the world.

I've made all these decisions to change- did you know? To be tougher, stronger. bite the bullet and beat the drum. To march to my own music and seek out the fear and laugh in it's face. It's a change, it's different.And as I embark on it, my old life couldn't love more appealing if it were wrapped in a blanket, cuddled on a bed in the middle of a softly lit room just waiting for me.

2010-05-28T01:07:00.001+01:00

I write emails that I wish I was brave enough to send. Smart enough to click the button, but I can't.

It would change a million things in one tiny second.

And yet if I do want this change....

Avoid eye contact

2010-05-27T23:39:00.002+01:00

The first time you walk the corridor you meet a stranger. A smile flickers shyly and a friend is made. Whether it be through association, off the cuff brash bravery or sheer boredom that allows the courtesy of friendship to unfold. It is real- it is felt.

Then; unbeknown st the feelings fade, the flicker dims, the smile is more tightly formed. The corridor lengthens with a time spent apart, the meetings along the way to each destination become briefer, less define. Less there.

Avoidance becomes necessity to negate to awkwardness that crusts over with time. Cautiously watching steps, checking ahead, side stepping and hurrying so as not to encounter the once cherished friend.

Lets not deal with the;

"Hi, how are you?"

Hit with a wall of lost time conversation takes its last breath and reminisces to a time of easy laughter, bright eyes and brighter tales.

Off the wall we are met with perhaps sadness, change almost certainly and a finer sense of what was gained and in turn lost.

A friendship formed is never done. No matter where we walk.

No.

2010-05-25T12:28:00.003+01:00

I need to change this blog, it's decided. The thought is an action.

The page looks hurried, uneasy.

The words aren't what they should be.

So change.

Good plan.

There's no thought without thought

2010-05-25T12:14:00.002+01:00

I spend ages concerned with concepts, ideas, plots, other people...but seemingly, and more so unapparent I spend less time in action. Doing something is far more tedious than the thought out process for the procrastinator in me.

Recently I have taken to deleting some of my blogs and keeping it within the range of "self thought" and preservation. There are 145 blog entries on this page- are any of them really... OK? I don't want to delete them all in a brash cry of impatience. Even though, lets face it the loss would not be so great.

I've started to look at what I write with a less critical eye and a more productive air- instead of immediately wanting to delete all the words and being impatient with myself I like to think what I could add to make it more readable and what I could take away to make it less a dramatic cry of pretension (although the last three paragraphs are certainly up there with the best of them).

I will always love and use words- there will always be a string of sentences I want to pearl together. Not just for pretty thought sake. It's more so out of necessity. If I do not write everyday I will be restless. The thoughts in my head will build up to such an extent that I will not have room for anything else; just thought. And while that could be a worry, I don't think it is something that will ever happen. There is always a scrap of paper, an almost run out pen. I will always have the ten minutes to scribble down the thought.

Then later on when the day is sleeping and my mind is ready to tell me stories I will look at the crumbled receipt, wonder why I kept it, turn it around in my fingers and find the line. The line in my head that is now a full story.

I'll sigh, start up my near death bed stricken laptop and run my fingers over the letters. Hopefully the string doesn't knot me up in some hopeless case of all night exhaustion.

But if it does, so be it.

Happy Birthday...

2010-04-11T14:06:00.000+01:00

My When Will I Die Quiz results:

I have 53 years left to live.
I will die in 2063 at age 77.
I am behind the average lifespan for someone my age by 4 years.
To put it another way, I have the health of a 28 year old woman.
I have lived 31% of my life already.

Surprisingly reassuring...

Some things you just don't realise...

2010-03-28T15:43:00.004+01:00

My sister and I rarely speak in our own accents when we are together; sometimes we're English, Australian, American or almost racially acceptably French or Italian. We also spend most car journeys singing or in morbid silence in between her outbursts of road rage.

There's a black fleck on my right thumb, no matter how much the nail grows it's still there.

On the left side of my head my hair has alot more curls.

I have a squint in my left eye.

My grandmother told me shrugging is for stupid people and even now I stop myself doing it.

One of my best friends likes to tell me to put on "our song" when we're in the car. It's Noah and the Whale, Sun, sun, sun.... because we probably won't like each other in five years time as the lyric suggests. Ever so comforting.

If I rotate my wrists they click.Same goes for my ankles.

I cannot stand The Cable Guy, it makes me very very angry. Much like reality television, Laura Woods, Eddie Hobbs, Winning Streak and ring tones.

I prefer ads to regular scheduled programming.

I made a friend move furniture around my room this morning just because I don't like how I can see myself in the mirror every morning when I wake up.

I love wrapping paper more than the present. Always.

My favourite flavour is orange or strawberry. For a month every Summer I like to live solely on ice pops.

I would like all my meals to be in picnic form.

I only like being social with people every so often. More often than not I like restricting most contact to text form.

I will never pick up the phone to a private number.

I will always pick up to my parents.

I keep my phone on silent at all times as when it vibrates to notify me I have a message it scares me. Therefore the picking up to my parents point is pretty much moot.

There's a cat in our back yard and I fed him tuna even though my brother told me not to.

I like black and white films.

I love all french songs even though I have no idea what is being said.

I have poor reflexes... means I fall over alot.

My mother calls me the baby even though I have two younger brothers. Those two call me the child and my older brother and sister call me sweetie. All in all my family think I am 7.

I hate the word goodbye and bye. Very final.

I gag at the thought of velvet.

I like to make up stories about people I see on the bus.

I read over 200 mills and boon books in the last 6 months. I only kept reading them as people has a genuine problem with it and it intrigued me.

I have a teddy bear called selection box and I bring him everywhere with me. He can often be found in my handbag.

I can recite certain paragraphs of To Kill a Mockingbird, Macbeth, Sense and Sensibility, Pride and Prejudice and The Bell Jar.

I go through phases- I have been obsessed with Mandella, Sinatra, Joe DiMaggio, Humphrey Bogart, Ted Bundy, Bobby Sands, Polly Klass and Charles Manson.

I read all public documents to do with the Veronica Guerin case when I was in secondary school.

When I blink my eyes click.

When I was younger I wanted clickity grown up shoes.

I don't like labels.

I like sunglasses.

I think Tom Cruise is misunderstood.

Sometimes I like to do long division when I am bored because it took me so long to grasp it in school I'm afraid I will forget how to do it.

I like graveyards and usually find the names for characters there.

I hate selfishness, loud noises and when it's dark.

More often than not I fall asleep to the voice of Stephen Fry reading Harry Potter.

I dream of people and there is rarely a location around for long enough to focus on it.

First thing I do when I wake in the morning is check my phone, text my mother and delete email spam.

I have an off white tooth that will not whiten no matter what I do.

I can cook but I cannot bake.

There's a rocking chair in our kitchen that I don't like to rock on in case I break it.

I like stretching and curling my toes.

I like to play with people's fingers. When I was younger I would spend hours playing "princess trapped in a dungeon" while I sat on my father's lap, his hands were the dungeon.

When I was small I cried because I didn't have an Adam's apple.

I was too small to go swimming in school so I went to "daddy and me" classes.

I had a stutter which sometimes causes me to roll my "th" sounds.

I love poetry.

When I finish something I like to know there is something wrong with it that needs to be fixed before I show it to anyone.

I would love to have a little girl called Moxie who liked to play outside all the time.

Lastly-

I do not like to shake hands with strangers.

Curtain

2010-02-26T00:56:00.002Z

Everynight when I come into my room I do the same thing. I close my curtains, change into more suitable snooze attire, open the curtains again, go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, return and clothes my curtains.

It's a habit, means nothing. But this evening I decided once I closed them and had them draped tightly closed that I would leave them that way.

Old habits die hard- curtains open. It makes no difference to the room. i am not keeping anyone out and keeping something in. It just feels better that way.

I must really up the dosage.

I've never dreamt right.

2010-02-11T07:59:00.002Z

It's selfish to say people don't understand you- did you know?

I dreamt about a little girl painting a picture of her house, there's a man sitting on a couch watching and asking her questions. She ignores him as she bows her head in concentration, her hair covering her face and her little tongue sticking out in stark focus. When she stops painting he picks up the picture and the page is blank.

Why is it blank?

She just smiles at that question.

Then my alarm goes.

Oh now.

2010-02-08T15:04:00.006Z

I have a feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's a grating metal like feeling- some kind of panicky steel that is worrying me. I think I have forgotten something, or something is going to happen today and I will not be best pleased with the outcome.

Being a habitual worrier I know that this isn't unusual and for people who know me it can be somewhat boring, however why does a mental state of anxiety always have a physical aftertaste.

I decided to research a little before blogging, so then it would not just be a selfish rant of sorts- a little education seemingly goes nowhere however...

Anxiety is a contraction of stimulus both psychological and physiological... but apparently it happens without reason. So that means it's so grey it's hidden- frustating.

Therefore I will try harder to think about why I am worrying.

I'll worry about why I am worrying- seems healthy enough.

Windows is processing...

2010-02-02T21:09:00.002Z

I really need a new laptop- this poor mite has been struck down by every type of problem it can have- besides being purposely lit on fire. I haven't reached that stage quite yet.

It's slow, annoying and won't do what I want.

Oh wait... it's a man.

BURN.

I've spent the last hour reading about fear and rejection. For no real reason; I was curious and there was nothing on television worth my attention.

It seems to all boil down to people being afraid that their own expectations are greiviously lower than the spectator. I am one of those people who just believes being mediocre is perfectl acceptable and any compliments after that should be taken on the chin, empty gratitude served back over the net to the player and then it's 40 love (that's a sport metaphor...).

Mark Twain was apparently so afraid that people would expect such heights from his writing that he often hid it from his most avid readers, Padraig Pearse had a nervous twitch when he spoke in crowds due to the heavy anticipation of being jeered at (thank you for telling me Mrs. History teacher) and JK Rowling still blushes when walking past her own book on a shelf.

That seems crazy. The most succesful and inspirational people in the world thinking they are not good enough to function in the worlds they have made for themselves by being so obviously talented.

I guess some things will never change.

Tonight I read To Kill A Mockingbird. Again. I'm just at the part where Scout has her new gun targetted at Miss. Maudies behind. Atticus will intervene before she takes up aim. I can always depend on him.

Feb, 1, 2010 (forgot to post)

2010-01-30T18:15:00.004Z

Perhaps change is the key Watson...

2010-01-30T18:15:00.003Z

If there is one book you deem worthy of reading this month, year or decade I would lobby it to be Schindler's Ark. You stomach it without tasting metal in your mouth at every injustice over every leaf and I don't think I want you reading what I write.

Today I spent much of my time in solitude. I have not been sleeping due to weird dreams that I refuse to have, in my refusal it seems sleep and the occasional nap has been taken away from me. I can deal with it so long as I get my five to six hours of quiet time every 24 hours.

So I toook the time today to set up a new blog (ooooh shiney) I hear you say. I will add the link onto this page as soon as I have a little archive together.

The mish mash of nevertoolate is all well and good but it doesn't sit well with me when I want to have a tudy and clean piece put together.

I also had a brilliant idea today- not going to actually tell anyone about it just yet, but just know... it's great.

Have you ever...

2010-01-23T20:13:00.001Z

Had what you thought was a really good idea and then be told it is on fact terrible? And have that person, the bringer of reality, be a paid medical profession type person??

Yeah, me neither.

I write it better than you ever felt it.

2010-01-22T15:08:00.000Z

My resolution bit the dust five days in. FIVE DAYS. That cannot be a good omen for the rest of the year surely? However I am far too good a mood to let it thwart me. Today is good. I spent the entire night writing- all night long the only sounds were me typing, swearing when I needed to spell check or look something up, pacing a little and sighing contently when it was all out of my head and printed before me. 12,000 words later (give or take syntax.... and grammmmmmar) I am lighter than I have been in weeks. I will never show anyone what it was that made me feel heavier. It's for me, but the fact that I had the follow through to start what I began at 11pm last night gives me hope for this year. Writing in a blog daily will not give me the satisfaction that is desired if I am not writing what I want to be read.

Today I spend it reading and doing exactly what I want to do. Selfish? Almost certainly. Necessary? More so than breathing!

I have spent far too long being concerned with others; friends, family, random peers. They don't care for my opinion, and that isn't being deprecating in anyway, that's just fact. I will try to worry less. Reduce the stress somewhat. Talk to who I want to, be with who i want to see and then see where I feel I am standing after this is somewhat continuous.

No more annual resolutions- who is to say I don't try something for a month and then pick up something new after that? Far more productive and useful for the restless person in me.

The irony of this good feeling.... my internet just died... COUGH. Fear not I copy, I paste, I save...

Sigh.

Definition of a bad day:

2010-01-05T22:21:00.003Z

While walking to work this morning I trundled across an open and used pregnancy test at the bus stop, it was positive. Beside it was a half eaten bag of crisps. Made me sad...

Jude Law has a bad hair line.

2010-01-04T23:32:00.002Z

For the first time in our relationship Law's face didn't annoy me.

There I said it.

This isn't a blog, more so a confession, but I have no more to say this evening....

There's nothing on television...

2010-01-03T22:23:00.002Z

Therefore I am deleting rubbishing from my email... and the lazy blogger in me was grateful to find some ramblings....

Hopeless travel writing attempt.

18th November, 2009.
Krakow, Lesser Poland.
After very little sleep, more than a healthy serving of childish
excitement and far too much hand luggage we have arrived. Katowice
Airport is cold, sterile, overly bright with florescent lighting and
seemingly completely devoid of anykind of polite social interaction.
Tired, cold and a little bit lost in a foreign country we were
released from the airport and found ourselves crammed into the back of
a small blacked out mini bus with the good fortune to be driven by a
man who was more than capable of conversing in Russian. Without a word
of polish we were dropped at Krakow bus station and pointed in the
direction if the nearest taxi. The most important thing to remember
about taxi drivers in a foreign country is that they are more than
happy to help the stranded but they know the longer it will take the
more money they will make. Therefore at 2am this morning we were
privvy to the fast paced conversation of how best to get us to the
main Market square. It took too much time, a bit of money and brute
strength to get us up the three flights of stairs to our ryjneck7
hostel. Ironically we can be found in room 7....

Gasping

2010-01-02T23:11:00.002Z

With a head held high above water;
proud, stiff and arched.

Blurred by the black spots blinding the vision
the wait would not be long.

The cold waves lapped and splashed off the surrounding walls
the only sound in the place.

Except your breaths.

The darkness was as iced as the water clouding the space.

Your feet are frozen weights fighting your pull,
your fingers,hands and arms as numb as the fear that is holding you there.

Bobbing like a hopeless cork.

It won't be long now.

Day 1...

2010-01-02T21:31:00.002Z

When people get married I imagine it will last forever. The happily ever after idea. Today I learnt that some married couples aren't like my parents. They may fight at times, my mother may scream at my timid father and he will concede almost immediately and they will make up as if they had never had a disagreement in the first place. They aren't overly affectionate, but it's clear she has no intention of killing him in his sleep which is comforting.

So far my new years resolutions have taken a hit- I haven't, as far as I can see, lost a million pounds, I haven't written my Pulitzer prose today, I didn't walk from town home and I most certainly haven't looked up anything educational online to benefit me...

So far onto a winner.

New Years.... uh oh.

2010-01-01T21:06:00.002Z

Everyone attempts to think of and keep up a resolution- lose weight, gain weight, exercise more, eat less, read more, watch less television, listen to classical music, swear less... etc.

Mine is to write in this thing everyday, more importantly to make sure it's readable.

I also vow to lose/gain weight, exercise more, eat less, read better books, listen to Chopin.... but I am not telling you that.

An Apple a day...

2009-08-20T14:13:00.003+01:00

To say that I am unfortunately clumsy would be considered an understatement by most. I fall, trip, bang into things and drop items more than should be deemed acceptable in social surroundings.

Recently I lost my Itouch to my clumsy fate and decided to torture myself by pricing a new personal music player (that is what the fancy kids call it...).

The man behind the counter, whose name was Ger- so said his plastic name tag, seemed uncaring by the fact that Apple products cost a BEZILLION euro.

So I will now remortgage the house, I will sell one kidney and I believe my youngest brother could make a pretty penny.

So Ger- I will be back....

Nasty Neighbours.... added notes

2009-07-17T01:04:00.003+01:00

Reader,

Please be advised that the aforementioned neighbours found previously in this weblog were in fact extremely attractive.

Think sexiest people you know going at it on a table which holds you favourite meal, with your favourite music playing in the background and a winning lottery ticket on the table beside the condoms...

Transfor...meh

2009-07-01T22:40:00.002+01:00

Because I am a good friend I recently endured the CGI "delight" that was Transformers- the Revenge of the Fallen. I just wish that in the first five minutes the vengeful had thought about falling on Shia LeBeouf's face.

Megan Fox is ok.... but if anyone else calls her a "talented actress" I may have a problem.

Very Nasty Neighbours

2009-06-28T18:40:00.003+01:00

Once Upon a Time...

I accidentally saw my neighbours "at it". Since then I have been very aware of what can be seen from my window and, more importantly, what I have to endure if I look out at the wrong time of day.

This morning while changing my bed clothes I was foolish enough to open my window, straighten the curtain and wipe the dust off window sill... then BAM...

and they are at it again.

I'm moving.

What's your wpm?

2009-06-27T22:19:00.003+01:00

I have become slightly obsessed with typing speed tests online. It all began last night at some ungodly hour when I had decided that reading wasn't going to help me sleep. I started with the rather respectable speed of 48wpm and have now with, considerable endurance and a seeming less talent achieved 62 wpm. I will not stop until I have obtained the ultimate goal- 80wpm. Some woman on television gloated about that being her average wpm and I decided that if she can do it, why not me...

Oh Now...

2009-06-25T00:06:00.002+01:00

Having watched the polite delight that was The Commons this morning I find myself looking at the Oireachtas Report... what a leap back down.

"Semi detached" was a description used during a... rant about our relationship with the rest of Europe. Why is no one saying pleasant things? Why are they not calling each other friends and gentlemen etc...

It's pretty much like 50 business study teachers all sitting in a room, kinda mad at each other cause the longer they spend talking about silly things, like our economy, they will miss last call in the pub.

When the going gets tough: avoid daytime TV

2009-06-24T13:19:00.002+01:00

Having just turned on the television to find out what is going on in the world I have started to follow the live feed of "the commons" on Sky News.

What I love about this is how very conservative and proper the entire affair is! They call each other "honourable gentlemen" and "honourable friends" all the while they snipe and threaten each other... and then there are the constant heckles from the other sleepy people sitting on the green leather seats. It's English repression without the nice scones...

Also it seems there was some sort of massive sale on navy pinstriped three piece suits lately...

My other aims of today are to conduct a survey of sorts. I need to make up some sort of lovely and delightful hen party invitation for my sisters impending matrimonial leap. I must also send off her mass booklet information to the printers and I have to wait patiently by the phone in the hopes that it will ring and a nice lady/gentleman at the end of the line will offer me a hugely exciting job.

All these things will get done, bar the job offer... if I was to hold my breath on that front I would make a very attractive smurf by the end of the day...

Because I have listened to it 400 times...

2009-06-06T01:37:00.003+01:00

If you're not up before 5am I don't want to hear about it...

2009-05-19T11:50:00.002+01:00

When one wakes from a slumber heavily induced by painkillers it is not best to deal with anything human for at least 24 hours... that is the motto I have now decided to run along beside. I won't actually do that, I;ll just watch that unfold while I hurt myself lefting heavy things.

I do plan on posting a blog up here... any minute now... however, I have just completed more before 12pm than you wil achieve all day. You wanna challenge me?... I've read a book, cleaned out a kitchen, defrosted a freezer and "fixed" the clothes line (I fashioned some sort of "staying upright" device...)...

Oh yeah.. the recession+arts degree= probably best not to leave any firearms in the house...

Chipped nail varnish and alot of cold water later...

2009-04-20T14:48:00.002+01:00

Waking up in a bad mood is counter productive. Just makes me more cranky. So what does one do in the fit of unhelping hormones? Wash windows. My mother and any living Stepford Wife would be proud. Bar Nicole Kidman, but that's only because she's hungry all the time and Australia was shit.

"Men fear death as children fear to go in the dark."

2009-04-03T22:15:00.000+01:00

I lie in bed clutching the bed sheet which is tucked under my chin. I curse everyone that has abandoned me, as far as I am concerned in my time of need. I curse my parents for allowing me to act this way as a child, I curse my best friends for being at hand during a serious bout of self resolve but most of all I curse all the fictional misgivings that could be going on in my room at this very moment. The bogie man in the wardrobe, the troll under the bed, the witch behind the curtain. All of these demons were more real to me even after I passed the age of believing in Santa Clause and considering the tooth fairy as my main source of income.

My imagination has always been the key to my life, since as far back as I could remember I have been more than dutifully entertained by my own company than can be considered adequate.

I slept in a tiny box room with my older sister; we spent much of our time discussing certain aspects of our busy days. Who got picked in sports, who read the most interesting thing in class, which boy we married during break... it was all very valuable stuff swirling around the room, in the atmosphere of night that was safely shrouded with the nightlight my father had installed when he realised his youngest daughter would not overcome irrational fears in a hurry.

At five it was endearing, a quirky characteristic of a child that would be something her parents would fondly look back on once she had grown out of. The teddy bears were lined up in the bed ready to attack any enemy that penetrated the perimeter of the bed. Their watchful eyes helped me recover from any hiccup that occured once it was time for lights out. A gush of wind, a stray animal growl outside, a creak from the attic; all these things could make any five year old uneasy, this one particularly was not fond of the unexplained. An overactive imagination had a lot to answer for.

By ten it was a slight concern, a nuisance at a slumber party and the plight of my relationship with the aforementioned sister. It was time to embrace the night time. To become comfortable with my own thoughts when they were in the dark. No matter how logical the noises around me were made, the fact that I could not see the source was causing the problems; therefore a nightlight was the only way through. There was no reasonable explanation for such a fear of the dark.

I was not beaten as a child. I was not brought up in a rough shod house where I feared the superior, cried at the entrance of the alpha male. Where I shuddered at the discourse of going against the trend of anything. I was comfortable in my own skin as a toddler and as I grew I found comfort in my own fantasies. My mother encouraged, my father knowingly smiled and my siblings on occasion took the time to jeer in a somewhat comradely way, but more often than not they left their sister to her own devices. As God knows what would happen if she joined in any activity they were lobbying for. An adventure in my mind as a child was wherever my imagination felt like taking me that day. Where would I soldier- fight the dragon? What princess would I watch enviously being saved by the masterful and magnificent Prince? Where in the world was there a damsel in distress trapped in a tower and how could I read about her being saved in some wonderfully romantic fashion that would end happily ever after.

I had no problems in fiction or in reality, yet the idea of being left alone in a darkened room causes an uprooted emotion of fear. Even now, at the age of 22, it is a difficult to task to sleep in a room that has no flickering of reassurance.

They never came home.

2009-03-09T00:18:00.000Z

Each article written about the Stardust disaster has been taken from the angle of a nation that had to suffer the emotional scars from the aftermath. Parents crushed as they buried their children, one baby left orphaned as a result and a community so strained under the pressure of seeking justice that it leads to the ruination of many families. Having read so many reports it has become blatantly clear that the nightclub should never have been opened in the first place. The Stardust Nightclub was dangerous places that ultimately lead to the death of 48 innocent young people.

In the early 70’s budding entrepreneur Patrick Butterly began his long battle in the North Dublin area with the city’s planning authority to have a once productive jam factory be converted into a thriving entertainment complex comprising of a pub, function rooms and cabaret venue. Throughout the 70’s Butterly would apply many time to the local authorities and he would be declined due to blatant lack of safety regulations on the premises. This however, all changed in 1975 when the local planning authorities granted him permission to create a somewhat social district, Butterly claimed that this would play a pivotal role in creating morale among the community and bringing about a social chnge in time for the city to raise above the economical lull it can been victim to throughout the early 70’s. Political change was already a foot with local Politician Charles Haughey taking over as Taoiseach from Jack Lynch in 1979.

It would seem that Patrick Butterly’s dream of creating some kind of social buzz would be welcomed by all. The ”Stardust” night club opened in However, prior and during the opening of the Butterly premises it would seem that things were not up to the standard hoped by the corporation inspectors, who paid the night clubs up to 24 visits in 1980 alone. With each inspection worrying results to be found; loose tables obstructing the exits, fire exit doors that did not open the appropriate amount and defective light bulbs in the emergency lighting system. However, bizarrely enough none of these problems led to the Stardust being shut down. Patrick Butterly claims he was not aware that all the exits must be unlocked at all times, but he also claimed that as soon as every regulatory lack was brought to his attention they were rectified immediately.

Mr. Butterly’s business savvy and community loyalty was not the reason that the Stardust remained open to the public, it was perhaps convenient at the time of each safety investigation that he was canvassing for local politicians during the pre-election events. It has to be said that his involvement in the political rallies in the area were probably highly beneficial to each of the inspections being ignored by the local authorities.

The buzz outside the Stardust on the eve of Valentines Day was contagious for each of the young people waiting to get inside. As they waited to pay they did not pay heed to the chain fire exit doors or the steel plates covering every single toilet window in the building. They were looking forward to the romantic encounters that would be found inside and the ensuing excitement of maybe meeting someone special before midnight. However, it seems none of these people would forget their night, all for the wrong reasons.

Where in the world?

2009-03-09T00:17:00.000Z

In 2004 The Missing Person Association (MPA) recorded that 5,060 people were reported missing in Ireland and 83 of which were never found. With a population just shy of 4 million this is a statistic that is growing alarmingly. Due to this ongoing crisis the MPA have established three categories to help them assist as many people as possible. A Category ‘A’ missing person requires immediate action this person is at high risk, usually someone who has been abducted or a possible suicide threat. A Category ‘B’ missing person may be an individual who has left voluntarily and has notified a family member. A Category ‘C’ missing person is someone who is of absolutely no threat, a person who more than likely just wishes to begin a new life. Sadly not all missing persons in this country disappear willingly; many vanish without a trace and leave behind a heartbroken family desperate to find out what happened to their loved ones.

Philip Cairns had just started at Colaiste Eanna secondary school. On the 23rd of October in 1986 he was walking from his home on Ballyroan Road in Rathfarnham back to school after his lunch break, however he never arrived. To this day no trace of the young teenager has been found, despite countless heartfelt pleas made by the local Gardai and the Cairns Family. It seems that the school boy simply disappeared on this busy and seemingly harmless stretch of road. Even more mysterious was that seven days after his disappearance two teenage girls found his school-bag in a dark, curvy laneway close to his home the had been searched extensively just hours after Mr. and Mrs. Cairns had called the authorities to report their sons disappearance. This can only mean that some one planted the bag in that laneway shortly before the girls came upon it. This person could probably be of great assistance to the Rathfarnham Gardai who investigated Philips case. To this day no answers have been given to Alice Cairns who has lost her eldest son.

Mary Boyle was a pretty and curious six year old girl in 1977 who liked nothing more than to play with her brother and sister. Tragically she is Ireland’s youngest missing person, having vanished in March 18th 1977 near Ballyshannon in Southern Donegal. On that day Mary had been playing with her twin sister and older brother Patrick in the back garden while her parents were in the house preparing dinner. When Mary complained of being bored the other two children were not ready to finish their game and so continued without paying much attention to their sibling. Her parents Charlie and Ann did not see the little girl wander out of the garden. Mary’s uncle and godfather Gerry Gallagher is the last known person to have seen her. At about 3.30 that afternoon he was carrying a ladder back to house of his neighbour. Mary followed him from a distance chatting idly to her uncle. Just before reaching the house Gerry made his way through six inches of mud. Mary hesitated and decided to turn back home. She would never be seen again.
No evidence was ever found to suggest that Mary was abducted. Two theories remain dominant in the case of Mary Boyle. One is that she encountered some marshy bog land that had been an undetected sink-hole, and being less than four foot tall she would not have been able to pull herself back up if she had lost her footing. If Mary had been wearing boots then it is very likely that the little girl would have been walking awkwardly through the marshy land and so if she had fallen over the likely scenario is that she would have become stuck in the mud, if she were to struggle it would have resulted in her becoming further embedded in the reeds and shallow waters. Being such a slight build the little girl could very easily have sunk into the bogland completely unnoticed and sadly her body would never be recovered, although it would remain perfectly preserved. The other, far more sinister theory is that Mary was abducted after she left her uncles company and before she had reached the safety of home. Unfortunately both theories have been entertained for almost thirty years and have shed no light in this tragic mystery.

Without the information and help of the public it has become painstakingly clear to the authorities that many of the missing people of Ireland will remain under that label. The sad truth of the matter is that people like Fiona Sinnot, Jo Jo Dullard and Ciara Breen all remain unsolved mysterious filed away until someone can help unravel, perhaps the last moments of their lives.

The lost child

2009-03-09T00:09:00.005Z

Every time the name Kennedy is uttered amongst a group of people the conversation will usually lead onto a discussion about the political inauguration of Jack, the assassination of Bobby, the drunken disasters of Ted and the shame Jackie brought on the family name when she wanted out of the Camelot dynasty. The entire world knows who the Kennedy’s are and what they have become in American political history. Well, at least the Kennedy history that people were allowed to hear and speculate about.
Born on the 13th September 1918 she was the first daughter for Joe and Rose Kennedy and their third child. Rosemary wasn’t like her other seven siblings; she was shy and passive and spent as much time on her own while growing up. Her reaction to public outings that the family took was often to cower in the corner and hide behind her big brother Jack (JFK).

Anthony Summers, a non-fiction writer based in Ireland has researched the Kennedy family intensively for his two non fiction works “The Kennedy Conspiracy” and “Not in Your Life Time”, has spoken to the Express about the faux pas that was Rosemary Kennedy’s “mental instability” within the realms of the American royal family.
“Rosemary’s IQ”, Summers says, “was somewhere in the range of 80-85, which is by no means fantastic, but it doesn’t suggest anything remotely mind altering. However, with the rest of siblings reaching IQ’s of somewhere between 120 and 130, she had no way to compete with them. Therefore Joe had no problem bringing it down to a certain mark, where it reached mild retardation.”
In “The Kennedy Conspiracy” Summers suggests that once Jack was no longer around to deal with Rosemary‘s nervous mood swings would have to take things into his own hands.

“It was clear that Rosemary had a nervous disposition, was depressed and had concerns about the way in which she was perceived by others. Would I call that a mental health issue which warranted such a drastic solution? Most certainly not” was the response Summers gave when asked about how he felt about Rosemary’s treatment.

Joe Kennedy started speaking to doctors about his daughter when she was in her early twenties and spent the majority of her time hidden away from the world. Neuro-surgeon Walter Freeman was called upon to assess the girl and make a decision that would lead to the ruination of a young life. He along with his assistant James Watts came to the conclusion if 1941 that a pre frontal lobotomy would be the best thing for the young daughter of the progressive Kennedy.
The following excerpt is a brief account from James Watts’ medical notes on what procedure they undertook with Rosemary:
We went through the top of the head, I think she was awake. She had a mild tranquilizer. I made a surgical incision in the brain through the skull. It was near the front. It was on both sides. "We put an instrument inside," he said. As Dr. Watts cut, Dr. Freeman put questions to Rosemary. For example, he asked her to recite the Lord's Prayer or sing "God Bless America" or count backwards. ... "We made an estimate on how far to cut based on how she responded." ... When she began to become incoherent, they stopped.

It was the 61st surgery for both men and was considered a success by them both. However Summers says the overall result of the young mind that was left in disarray is considered the fist of the Kennedy tragedies.

Left in a darkened room during her post op care Rosemary Kennedy was not the girl she had been prior to the invasive operation. She now had no attention span, rarely converse with others, even her beloved Bobby and Jack found it difficult to keep her distracted long enough for nurses to check on her stitches in the days that followed the surgery.
In ’47 Rose was moved to St. Colleta School for Exceptional Children where she would live out the rest of life and would pass away quietly on the 7th of January 2005. She stared vacantly while being told the sudden deaths of her siblings, the timely passing of her parents and the tragedy that ended her nephew’s life. She, like them was no longer on this earth.

“Mental health was the taboo of 1940’s America and that would not help anyone make their way to Camelot. Joe Kennedy was advised wrongly during the consultations about his daughter’s health, unfortunately she is a statistic of someone “lost” while neuro- surgery was still massively experimental.

Eunice Kennedy, Rosemary’s younger sister suffered greatly from losing her older sister and spent much of her adult life dedicated to the sufferers of mental health, so much so that she founded the Special Olympics which was all “for Rosie” she told Summers during an interview in the early 90s.

The Express did attempt to make contact with Eunice Kennedy but the response was a generic tone explaining that Ms Kennedy had multiple commitments at this moment in time but would ask that any information written about her sister’s medical history be treated with the privacy and dignity she deserved. She never appreciated the lime light before or after her illness in 1940.

The irony of that response is that although she didn’t enjoy the lime light like the rest of her family she ended up in the darkness, alone.

My mother had a sewing box with patterns on the side

2009-02-23T23:51:00.000Z

With pins on the top that sparkled
when kept beside the fire.

It healed the wounded-
badged the brave
and put excitement back into the dull.

My little hands were prohibited from touching such treasure,
but I watched from a distnace as it transformed a critical daily
garment k into an ensemble worthy of Milan.

It fixed the torn, it helped the ripped and held together the most
stubborn of fabrics.

I believed in magic then.

When I grow up I want to be...

2009-02-23T22:18:00.003Z

When I was a child after school my two younger brothers and I would spend hours outside on adventures; we were pirates, pilots, thieves, statesmen and villains. We left the bored ed realms of reality and donned our imaginations for an afternoon. It was during this time that I first realised that the world of make believe was the best place for someone who dreamed as Peter and Wendy did of Never land.

Playing dress up and being on stage was the easiest way to fun that I could think of, we wrote stories as kids and we then spent hours going through the gruelling tasks of casting, production and eventually executing our written plots.

My parents always humoured and applauded such tasks, occasionally making eye contact no doubt dreaming of a child that would be content on a football field or in front of a computer screen, they had four other off springs to fulfill that duty. I was to be their one ping pong ball amongst the rest.

My brothers and sister occasionally took part in my games and stories, but after a number of failed efforts they realised that they had outgrown the pixie dust. It was strange for me. We were five kids very similar in eyes and noses- yet we were so different in our minds it would be difficult to find the family gene amongst the thoughts.

As we grew older it was an "each to their own" mind frame. My parents encouraged each child on our paths and met us half way when times tough, easy and joyful. They smiled in triumph, wept when fruits spoiled and most importantly of all they were there to see it all.

In case of emergency.... run hysterically from the burning building running over whoever is in your path.

2009-01-04T20:50:00.002Z

There shouldn't be a limit to the length of a blog title- I should have the same artistic freedom of Fall Out Boy when it comes to these things. If I want my blog to have a title of essay proportion then no one should stand in my way. Yeah you heard me blogger.com. I'm talking to you.

The sad thing is I had a blog all lined up in my head, but this has ruined the train of thought.

You've no one to blame but yourself.

I am oh so very...

2008-11-19T00:32:00.000Z

Normal is synonymous with "usual" in all the physical sciences, and in much of non-human biology. It is thus normal for bears to sleep continuously during winter, for female spiders to eat the males that mate with them, and for rabbits to eat their own faeces.
In Human Biology normal is sometimes also defined as the usual. Thus the normal height of young men is the range of heights that includes 95% of men. It is also normal for newborn babies to sleep for more than 20 hours per day. It is similarly normal for non-pregnant young women to experience intermittent uterine bleeding.
In broad terms, the unusualness of a symptom is possibly the single most important determinant of whether a patient seeks medical advice or not. Thus, it is normal to feel short of breath after climbing 5 flights of stairs. But shortness of breath after brushing one's teeth is unusual, and therefore a persuasive reason to consult a physician.
This usage of the term normal is based on strict observation. It is rigorous and acultural. It dispassionately describes the species exactly as it is. The 95% probability limits constitute the most widely accepted normal range. This coincides with the internationally accepted limits of statistical significance (i.e. extra-normality is denoted by P<0.05). As such, it constitutes an indispensable tool in the diagnostic industry........

See that's what I said about it......

Pure genius

2008-11-16T04:15:00.001Z

Watching the women work.

2008-10-30T00:11:00.002Z

During the weekend I went homeward for the simple fact that I missed it and I felt that I needed to check in with the parental unit.

On Saturday evening I watched my sister and mother meticulously weigh out, list off and prepare their ingredient for Christmas puddings. The raw materials were found from the stray cupboard in our kitchen which deals solely with dried seeds, berries and nuts.My brothers and I have never felt inclined to actually check this cupboard out as it seemed far to healthy. I imagine if it were to be opened for extended periods of time it would be part of that five-a-day all the people who fear fat children have been hammering on about.

I helped my sister open the bag of flour, I cracked open the can of Guinness and I went and found the special whiskey for the "soaking"- I say special, what I mean to say is, the only bottle of whiskey to be found in a house with pioneers as the leaders.

Once all the ingredients had been captured and brought to the kitchen table it was time to assemble the mess into something that would look adequate on a Rachel Allen's cookery time slot of RTE.My mother stood at the head of the table, my sister appropriately took place to her right and I stayed put in the far corner away from anything that required the tender loving knowledge of domesticity.

They worked quietly for a number of minutes- which was a surprise in itself given the fact that I am almost certain these two women breathe through their ears in order to get the last word in a conversation, and then they started to debate the instructions that was hand written by my grandmother.

This might not sound very unusual to the untrained reader, however, I have witnessed this debate on an annual basis and know that it can only end in my mother grudgingly going along with the written word according to her mother.

This year I decided to intervene before someone is killed, or worse, before I am asked to get involved with the task.

"Why don't you guys look up a different recipe? I mean I could have a quick look through the other books we have, or I could google it?".

I am not sure what language these two heard my offer in, but the grief stricken glares I was met with suggest that I had actually said; "fuck what Nana says, the old bag is so demented she hasn't a clue, lets go drown puppies in the Blackwater and shoot some nuns in the face."

The first one to splutter a response was the mother ship. Maintaining perfect eye contact- the woman doesn't need to blink in order to make her point, she just needs to be in the same room for the point to be and the message can be gotten loud and clear. I was told that there was nothing wrong with the recipe. They had followed them perfectly and without question for over ten years and everyone had enjoyed the pudding because of the fact. My sister mutely nodded, she clearly knows which side her bread is buttered on, or at least, which bowl her pudding should be mixed in.

I decided there and then that this was a warped tradition between these two. Like how I will always buy the Sunday Times and Tribune, but never read the same story in both publications. How I drink the first 3/4 of a cup of tea and never the rest and how I rarely end text conversations in the conventional words of bye, see ya or so long.

It seems that the mental apple doesn't fall far from the psychotic tree, and for that; I am happy.

Dell-lightful

2008-08-29T17:08:00.002+01:00

8pm Thursday evening

Location- Wilton (...)

Situation- on hold with Dell Customer Service with the hopes, dreams and goals of speaking with a human being before my first born reaches college...

"Good evening, Dell customer care Anita speaking how can I help you?"

"Oh hi Anita, I was just wondering who I could speak with in regards to a new computer that we bought and isn't working?"

"Right......" (pause to the length of something really.... long)

"Hello?"

"Hi, no-one here can help you."

"Excuse me? What?."

"Yeah no one here can help you, call back tomorrow. Everyone is gone home, this isn't my job."

"Oh, okay, well is there someone I can leave a message with."

"No that's not my job Ma'am."

"Oh.. right... what is your job?"

"I tell people to call back tomorrow."

*dial tone...

Expect far more hand written correspondance from me.

I never get away with anything

2008-08-24T16:46:00.002+01:00

The Chinese can train up their 14 year olds to jump up and down on the same spot for extended periods of time, the Americans can produce a human being capable of consuming 12000 calories and not be a fat bastard, but the Irish can't even make sure that the livestock we send out aren't questionable. Denis Lynch sat in a press conference and told the media not to blame him for this illegal substance that was found in his horse's system, the vet also claims that he is completely above board. Therefore all fingers are pointing at the... horse?? I would have done the same... when I was a toddler.

I remember when I was 7, my sister's radio "broke" (I dropped it when heavily engrossed in a game of "torture younger siblings until they cry", my parents came home and held the usual witch hunt. Unfortunately they knew exactly which of their witches was the guilty one, I never hide the badness well. The a-typical bite of the lip, eyes pointed to the ground and the red cheeks of sin are the usual giveaway. However, when my father got around to my interrogation I had decided that my ingenious plan would be to blame the dog. Yes, that fucking dog yen-yen. She had been asking for trouble since the day I forgot she was locked into the house and she used the parents bed as a make shift urinal. Yen-yen was going down...

I explained in great detail that Yen-yen knocked it over when she got into the house and I was trying to get her out in case she wrecked anything- the unfortunate thing was my story was a little too good, too much detail and therefore when I was being asked specific questions after my speech I shot myself in the foot. I couldn't remember where Yen-yen had come from, I couldn't recall who else was in the house, I couldn't remember why I didn't call anyone else to help. That day I realised that my parents had magical powers...

About two weeks later, you would have thought the lesson had been learnt... it wasn't.

We had this matchbox city filled to the brim with cars, trucks and figurines... I was quietly and guiltlessly playing with this imaginary community in my brother's room when I heard my father in the kitchen speaking with my mother. He had cracked a tooth in his front false teeth. His usual magic trick would be to take his teeth out in front of us and pretend that they were in fact real, the pain he contorted in his face was very impressive...

So he was going to have to fix his teeth with the special glue that was in the bathroom cabinet. This meant he would have to leave his teeth out for about an hour. My mother was angry at him because his carelessness meant that he would have to go to a meeting like a gummi bear. However, he promised her that he would put them back in before the time came for him to leave the house.

I got to thinking, as every 7 year old does that it would be interesting to see what the teeth would be at a closer inspection. All I had to do was take them from the bathroom, have a ook and put them back before the parental units spider senses started to tingle.

The teeth weren't really that interesting, in fact I was disappointed when I realised that they were nothing special. After a few minutes I decided to return them to the bathroom but.... my mother was in the shower. Knowing full well the cover would be blown if she saw the saucer my father had put them in was vacated panic sunk in. I stood in the hall wondering how best to sort the plight... and then I heard my father coming... In one hand I had the teeth in the other I had a black pick up truck with opening and closing front doors as it's only exciting feature. Realising there was no where to hide the teeth I shoved them into the pick up. My father was now in the hallway and shouting through the door at my mother to hurry up as they would be late. I decided it was best to leave as rapidly as I could.

The mind of a 7 year old is of pure genius it must be said, why didn't I just hand him his teeth right there and then? Why did I have to put them into the pick up? why, when I was forcing them in did I not realise that would be next to impossible to release them from that prison.

All was quiet while my mother was getting ready and my father was in the kitchen watching the news, I heard him turn off the tv, pull out the chair, stand up, open the kitchen door and go to the bathroom.

"Mary, did you take my teeth?"

"Why would I take your bloody teeth? I have enough to do without looking after your things."

"No I know you do, but they were right here.... LADS...."

And like that all five of us were lined up in the kitchen.

I would like to say it was in the cute Brady Bunch oldest at the front youngest taking up the rear, but that's never how we Guiry's roll, or were raised. We all stood there, four unknowing to what the problem was, but all still believing that whatever the issue was this evening they could be just as responsible as the next. It was always survival of the fittest when this line up's took place. The questioning would begin simple and my father would usually pace a little, trying to muster up some kind of anger, but it never really worked for him. And that night, without any teeth in, it was probably the most memorable.

My mother was still getting ready to leave and I knew there was little time to explain, she wasn't the understanding one. You did something wrong in the Mary Guiry world and you didn't own up to it, then you should probably get used to hoovering, washing and cleaning.

I knew my only way out was to play it smooth. Deny it all, the pick-up couldn't be traced back to me, it belonged to my brother, in our games it had never been my weapon of choice, and besides, I had hidden it in my brothers bed. I say hidden, I just threw it onto the bed when we were called to the kitchen.

My father said he wouldn't be mad if whoever had taken his teeth would just give them back. I had fallen for that line before. It had cost me dearly, no sweets after mass that Sunday was a bitter blow...

The other four at this point were rightly confused as they hadn't discussed the abduction of the dentures with anyone else, my eldest brother was trying to make eye contact with all of us to see who was responsible, it always made him unucomfortable not knowing who was to blame.

My youngest brother, the blonde haired, blue eyed doe was the orchard in my father's eye, was standing there looking increasingly disrupted by this whole experience and I knew it was my only chance... so I asked him timidly if he had been the last into the bathroom, had he seen the teeth? Did he know if anything had happened to them? Alan was getting confused I could tell, I took the opportunity and ran with it. I suggested we all have a look for the missing mouth ware. We spread out. The most important thing was that I didn't make it too obvious that I was going straight for the teeth. I looked other places first. Then after about ten minutes I went to the bed I had left them on and declared them found.

After hefty manipulation we deposited them in one piece back onto the saucer. I had gotten away with it. Suitably chuffed I went back to my game and my siblings went about their business.

But then I heard the parents talking. My mother was asking my father...

"Which one of them took your teeth?"

"Ciara".

God dammit all to hell....

Groundhog Day

2008-08-23T23:47:00.002+01:00

I sit cross legged in the middle of the living room floor. Well, this will be my living room for the next 20 hours or so- after that it'll belong to some student who will start their year back in college. While I stay working. There are no sound effects in this blog but if there were to be you would hear some sort of dry wretch right about now.

We move once again tomorrow, I feel like that is all I have been doing... move to l eave college, move to find a job, move to find adventures, move to keep up to date with friends/family/people I like to spend time with. If this is what a grown up is all about then I am glad that I am short and can pass for a 17 year old, as I plan on regressing back those 5 years (shudder) and taking up the teenager phase that I seem to have not bothered with at that time.

My parents actually waited for me to become moody, my mother told me this one day. They couldn't understand why their most sensitive and dramatic child never came home in floods of tears and declared that she hated her entire family. To be honest, I just couldn't be bothered. I liked my life at the time and if I had any problems within it then that was probably because I had in fact created them myself. Which is nice to consider that some things haven't changed overtime...

Why in my day...

2008-08-14T22:46:00.002+01:00

I have now reached the age where I can look upon a drunken teenager slumped on a bench in Patrick St at 11pm, shake my head at the situation and almost tut- the plight of the youth today.

That is what happened last night as we left on public house and walked to the next. The little teeny boppers had received their leaving cert results and they were of course anxious to celebrate. The only thing is, it made me feel old. I think I might give my mother a social call, telephonically. After my cup of tea and I've done a line... of knitting.

If I have to have one husband in the world....

2008-06-08T19:45:00.000+01:00

Meet you on the Sunnyside

2008-06-08T19:00:00.002+01:00

We have moved- it took an entire week- a six pack, an indoor barbeque, two terapins, five car trips, a speeding fine and a bad hair day to get here.

We're staying

But, shouldn't there be a table there?

2008-06-03T15:10:00.002+01:00

I come from a household full of "eclectic" individuals, no one more
eclectically challenged than my father.

This weekend was to be no different... in we walk on Friday evening
greeted by cats, dogs, turtle, brothers, parents and... a big large
space where the kitchen table used to once inhabit the area that was
once the dining area.

No one mentioned the missing furniture, no one spoke of a terrible
accident that had led to its demise and no-one explained when it would
be returning. Instead the brothers grimm (the two younger ones) went
outside for a suspicious length of time and returned with some sort of
make shift situation. No one spoke as they assembled to the best of
their abilities a dining "nook". I call it nook what I mean is a rust
contraption of four legs with a clean(ish) plank of wood over the top.
Then to set off the motif they put a table cloth over the mess and put
the tea pot on top.

Now I have read enough Irish literature to know this is acceptable- in
the 1920s. Therefore I had to investigate. Usually one didn't have to
go much further than PJ "I think we have one in stock" Guiry. So that
was my first stop. The man was surprisingly tight lipped about the
whole thing, he had other problems it would seem. The tractor got
stuck in the river when he was launching his boat (wtf...). Apparently
it was not a good time to bother him.

I moved on until I reached the next most likely responsible for this
act- the youngest but most powerful of my brothers. "What are you
talking about Cia, the table is grand, if you'll excuse me PJ got the
tractor stuck in the river and I must....". I stopped listening when I
realised that they were in cahoots. The men disappeared on Friday
evening and returned joyously. On the tractor.

I decided that the best approach was outright inquiry- "eh lads...
just wondering, where is the kitchen table?".

The pan ultimate brother looked at me as if I had sprouted another
head- "It's being painted, where the hell did you think it was when
you came in?!".

"Why are they painting the table? I thought it looked grand the last
time I saw it."

"Ah yeah, it was grand, but PJ decided to sand it and it didn't really work."

"How can a table not work?"

And with that the brother departed, he seemingly grew tired of my
pointless and needless questioning.

So here I sit, still questioning the situation, worrying about the
table and wondering how it was water torture would have helped me in
the situation...

Many many moons ago... (written October 2007)

2008-05-30T18:17:00.003+01:00

There was a time I didn't like college all that much and I decided that I needed to do something, to change it.

So I joined up with a group of people on campus who liked to dress up, tell stories and spend hours in a darkened space trying to make a new world. Sometimes we're pretentious wankers, sometimes we are so good we don't need modesty, other times we do the best with what we have.

This evening, I remembered a Dramat house party I went to a very long time ago- I sat on a bed until 3am eating digestive biscuits with some people and I tried my best to fit in with a group of people who prize themselves in not fitting in with anyone. Needless to say the safest bet was to stay sober to achieve this ultimate goal.

After that night I felt included, not at all intimidated and proud of myself for not shying away from the situation.

Some of the people that I met that evening and ate biscuits with are now my closest friends. How very strange..... and gay.

Her new song cause I miss her!

I really should be

2008-05-30T12:26:00.002+01:00

packing.

Next week we move and this weekend I go to the homestead, I should be motivated, feel the need to put things in bags, label things, fold things. Usually this kind of stuff excites me greatly- I should clearly be bullied more often.

Not today though.

Today I prefer to sit here- staring at the room, if I concentrate all my energy into staring the room will pack itself.... I don't know why I didn't think of this three years ago.

Once Moving Day (MD) is over everything will be fine again. Just fine.

I was supposed to be more ladylike today, that was the plan, I am supposed to be all about the girl activities, it's what my mother would love to see- but it was just ruined by the anonymous text I just received: "Hey, I have a screw driver and paint belonging to you."

Once a tomboy always a tomboy...

If I ever have one, I want it to be just like this.

2008-05-22T10:34:00.000+01:00

The scariest thing to happen before 11am...

2008-05-22T10:30:00.002+01:00

"We could be best friends forever if I marry your baby brother", utters the best friend lying in the bed beside me. At this point in the story I should reply with "over my dead body".

But she was always the literal of the two of us.

Don't Blame it on The Weather.

2008-05-21T01:15:00.004+01:00

Yesterday I walked into town. The bathroom sink needed a plunger, I needed food and the house needed a break from me pacing the floors trying to retain archaeological information. As I trotted in along Western Rd I met a man who fell into step with me. It was sort of awkward in so far as I didn't know him, I had headphones in my ears and I really didn't need a town companion. After the first minute I realised he was there to stay, so I removed one earphone, the one in the ear closest to my new best friend.

"Very dull isn't it?" he says when he realises he has my attention. For a heart stopping moment I thought he meant my outfit. It was true, I had not gone to any great effort in my attire, I had showered, brushed my hair and I had wore reasonably clean clothes. This was not something I was about to defend to Mr. Stranger.

"Pardon?" was the tentative response I found myself ask."The weather, it's getting very dull again." "Oh, yeah. It is abit alright- I'd say we are gonna get rain", I muster now that I realise he hasn't insulted me. I was happy in my improvisation considering I had no intention of speaking on my journey.

My fellow stroller wasn't too pleased with my assumption however. "Jesus, I hope not, that would be awful." Before I know it Mr. Man has walked on and then crosses the road. If I hadn't been so surprised by the verbal onslaught I may have adopted and kept a complex from the experience.

Instead I make a promise. From now on when people begin a conversation with me, even if I know them, I feign a lack of the English language.

Everyone is a winner.

overheardindublin.com

2008-05-19T16:16:00.000+01:00

Charity worker: "Can you spare a minute..."
Guy: "Do you think I'd be wearing these clothes if I could afford to give you money?"

overheard in dublin....

"If you don't stop crying I'll sell you on ebay!"

The Day of Rest

2008-05-18T14:41:00.004+01:00

When I am at home in parent land Sunday is my favourite day. It means mass, breakfast, Sunday papers, Top Gear and making a terrible desert that we will all pretend to enjoy. After the desert is digested (or brought back up), my parents usually go for a walk- cause they like each other. Myself and the siblings will stay at home and watch bad television or play cards in the violent Guiry way. It usually results in mutilated cutlery and at least one family member sporting a new bite mark. But it's all in good fun. We're just like the Waltons,bar the dungarees and the incestuous undertones.

This week I am in Cork and in an attempt to recreate the Guiry Sunday I have used all the same ingredients, however the day is ending up in a total bust and I think it is time to retreat to the brothers abode in the hope that I can attack him with a fork or something.

The definitions, events, trials and tribulations of the week....

2008-05-17T17:30:00.002+01:00

When one is bored one finds ways of amusing ones self (easy now...). I am a self confessed amatuer hairdresser- people leave me alone for long enough and I will cut my hair, or tidy the kitchen. The latter is under control, the housemates are occasionally grateful and I am my mother's secret favourite. I can tell.

Last night/this morning at 4am I could not sleep, I could not listen to music, my room was tody, I had no desire to study, so I did what any normal 22 year would do under the circumstances. I cut my hair. Just a little bit mind, don't want to make a dogs dinner of it or anything. I wish I could say that is desire only occurs in dribs and drabs and that i infact never give into the urges- this is not the case. I would estimate that I take out the scissors to the fringe at least once a fortnight. My parents are understandably confused as to what this hobby will possibly lead to. My father has suggested I clip the dogs coats and stay the fuck away from my hair as I dye it so much too much touching of it could lead to it falling out and a bowling ball effect (that is a PJ Guiry direct quote, these a rare- very difficult to pin down an actual meaning, but this tiime I think I get it). In other words my parents would like normalcy to reign over me and my head of hair. Maybe Peter Mark would hire me...

SHAKESPEARE..... "Billy Bob "the shack" Shakespeare is a 1970's pornograohic director from Galway, he dealt mostly in the farm animal theme and his influences were....." My exam went that well.

Shopping for shampoo + karma resulted from calling your (adoreable) friend a midget and retard in the same sentence leads to.... a messy handbag when the bottle explodes and saturates all other food items in the bag. God watches out for his favourites.

No frontiers

2008-05-13T00:35:00.001+01:00

I am so Irish that I cannot walk around in hot weather. Today I spent some quality time (we call it QT) with my youngest brother in town, the sun was shining we are happy with our lot in life and I made sure to walk in the shade as often as possible. I have a tendency to fall down if I provoke the sun.

Precautions did nothing for me. I waited patiently in South Doc this evening from 10.30pm onwards to get some medicine to stop the sun stroking that was occuring, The room was spinning, children were crying, my head was and still is relatuvely tight and that doctor called me claire guiney....

Cork it Disco Pigs (ooooh intelligent....)

2008-05-08T23:05:00.002+01:00

First exam over with and I feel pretty happy about the whole thing. I would have liked another hour to ramble on with my amazing points, but my genius was being rushed. I was in seat 152 in kampus kitchen. Row K. The guy sitting across from me was not happy during the exam... he coughed, he shuffled in his seat, he removed his hat countless times to touch his hair and he tapped on the desk. Then something dawned on me as I watched him.

I HAD BEEN WATCHING HIM FOR FAR TOO LONG DURING A 90 MINUTES EXAM.

Why do I even bother....

Kevin Dearest....

2008-05-06T21:35:00.001+01:00

No more smoking.

None.

Now get off my back. You are being an obstacle...

Attack of the bread

2008-05-06T21:01:00.002+01:00

Walking around the Lough puts things into perspective. We admired the swans, the ducks, the cute boys playing football and also the amount of bread people throw into the lake. We saw to BAGUETTES. I mean seriously, they were demi baguettes (working in Tesco means that no dust holds on me- a ho ho ho, just bobbing along happy out. It's something we all do- hot chicken roll, caught up in our environment... we put 2 and 2 together and we fling the baguette out into the sea (sort of).

Or perhaps it was some class of a weapon...

Maybe the swan started it, called the baguettien's mother a hoe, or something of that persausion. Maybe there was jeering involved... and bam the bread is launched similar to a missile.

Whatever the case is- I'm bringing my bread maker up tomorrow.

cigarettes are bad

2008-05-02T00:03:00.003+01:00

That is what I try to tell best friend girl #1 when she smokes at the backdoor of the house- it makes the kitchen cold,with the backdoor open it knocks over the rubbish- which in turns slips out onto the floor... potential obsticle course if ever we had one.

Which means I should regret purchasing aforementioned smoke sticks today... I should feel bad about smoking them too....

But I don't

If at first you don't succeed.... stay away from the bank

2008-04-30T11:24:00.002+01:00

The most satisfying thing is splatting paint on a really cheap canvas- trust me. It's better than smoking, drinking and... that other thing, well maybe not. but it's on a par.... (whatever kind of par one has been on recently is entirely up to one's discretion).

Today I went to the bank. As alot of people may know who read this blog, I dispise bank trolls. They judge you with their judging eyes because they know exactly how much you are worth (in the monetary sense- naturally. otherwise I am priceless). The lady behind the bullet proof glass was all the glass personality of one of those people who ring you up and ask if you are happy with your current broadband provider. I am thanks.

She smiled and listened, nodded a little and then told me that I would have to go to the customer service desk. This I did, rather willingly. There was a guy at this desk and I always prefer having to deal with guys- it's alot less painful, both mentally and physically. But the problem with this guy was the fact that it was he was new, hadn't a clue and asked me to wait a momoent while he got someone else to help me out. That's when he called over the same bank troll from earlier.

It's times like this when I kinda wish I had packed my gun this morning.

Best daydream track

2008-04-30T11:17:00.001+01:00

Last Night....

2008-04-29T12:35:00.002+01:00

I couldn't sleep. Too much in my head to just fall asleep. So I picked up an old book I found in my room- Plato's The Republic.

In it prisoners are chained inside a cage, where they cannot move for the rest of their lives. All they see for their entire lives is the fire bouncing off the walls in the prison. The dancing light and then the darkness. I didn't fully understand it. It's a metaphor. The darkness is dishonesty. These people were imprisoned unfairly (a majority of the time). The fire dancing is the truth. I think.

I finished the third chapter at 4am. I get it. I have to re-read it. Sometimes google a phrase. But I get it.

Take that Travel Writing essay that I do not want to do.

Three scratch cards and alot of brisk walking later

2008-04-23T20:46:00.001+01:00

Well that proved completely and utterly fruitless

I'm going to go buy a scratch card...

2008-04-23T19:59:00.000+01:00

watch this space

The English Student/Patient

2008-04-21T18:07:00.002+01:00

My mother always says that I am the worst patient in the world, I won't go to bed and sleep off illness. Now I regret it.

I have approximately 238897456 essays to complete.

If anyone would like to write an essay or seven just contact my office.

I had a dream...

2008-04-18T14:42:00.002+01:00

I adopted a baby boy, it was very real. He lived with me in the house we're in at the moment and no-one seemed to have a problem with the fact that I was now a parent, nevermind the fact that I am afraid of the dark, occasionally suck my thumb and still consider a lollipop a respectable food group option.

Swallowing is so last season.

2008-04-16T13:12:00.003+01:00

If I die of the Hep this may be the last blog... ever... oh what a world....

As I attempt to put together (in some form of haphazard style) my Buster Keaton essay I'm doing something my mother would not just frown upon, she would beat me with a stick if she knew. I am watching television while I do my "school work".

But, and this will be my argument to her if she ever finds out, we are actually watching the state funeral of Paddy Hillery, therefore Irish politics will save the day. Again.

I googled the man this morning just so I would know completely needless facts about him for the rest of the week in case he was brought up in a social situation. He is apparently responsible for one of the few sex scandals Irish politics has ever had to deal with. I think if we exclude Bertie from the list it is the only sex scandal.

I was delighted with the thought that he had done something so JFKish. However my delight was short lived when it was revealed through the accurate research of Wikipedia that the rumours were all lies and Paddy actually spoke out against them, telling the Irish public that they were ridiculous. The idea that he had a mistress in Arás with him does seem a little far fetched- the fact that his wife wears glasses and seemed rather tall, none of it was really adding up.

But I will find a scandal for today and it won't involve Britney... or one of the Geldofs....

Jones may not know much, but....

2008-04-15T16:14:00.001+01:00

The longest word with no vowels is rhythms.

A man of few words, but they're all gems.

Study month continues....

2008-04-13T23:29:00.000+01:00