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.
Wednesday
Tuesday
Last Night....
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.
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.
Wednesday
Three scratch cards and alot of brisk walking later
Well that proved completely and utterly fruitless
Monday
The English Student/Patient
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 have approximately 238897456 essays to complete.
If anyone would like to write an essay or seven just contact my office.
Friday
I had a dream...
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.
Wednesday
Swallowing is so last season.
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....
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....
Tuesday
Jones may not know much, but....
The longest word with no vowels is rhythms.
A man of few words, but they're all gems.
A man of few words, but they're all gems.
Sunday
Women blink nearly twice as much as men.
Some worms will eat themselves if they can't find any food.
What is called a "French kiss" in the English speaking world is known as an "English kiss" in France.
"Almost" is the longest word in the English language with all the letters in alphabetical order.
"Rhythm" is the longest English word without a vowel.
In 1386, a pig in France was executed by public hanging for the murder of a child
A cockroach can live several weeks with its head cut off.
Human thigh bones are stronger than concrete.
You can't kill yourself by holding your breath
There is a city called Rome on every continent.
It's against the law to have a pet dog in Iceland.
Your heart beats over 100,000 times a day.
Really study month is going very, rather, fantastically well....
Some worms will eat themselves if they can't find any food.
What is called a "French kiss" in the English speaking world is known as an "English kiss" in France.
"Almost" is the longest word in the English language with all the letters in alphabetical order.
"Rhythm" is the longest English word without a vowel.
In 1386, a pig in France was executed by public hanging for the murder of a child
A cockroach can live several weeks with its head cut off.
Human thigh bones are stronger than concrete.
You can't kill yourself by holding your breath
There is a city called Rome on every continent.
It's against the law to have a pet dog in Iceland.
Your heart beats over 100,000 times a day.
Really study month is going very, rather, fantastically well....
Saturday
Come Dine With Me
Ingredients for 22nd birthday dinner party extravaganza:
5 friends
Whiskey
Vodka
Wine (not too much wine, we will need to run out of it during the meal to cause tension)
Meatballs
Tesco value spaghetti
Guests to bring their own plates
A socially interactive dessert
Inappropriate table conversation, all things sexual.... going over the line.
The threat of a food fight at anytime
Once you have all your ingredients together mix however you see fit, if you do not have vodka Kopperberg will more than suffice as the next drink of choice. Make sure to have heating on so temperature of room is not comfortable and make sure that your guests are aware that if they are true friends of yours they will spill their dinner onto their laps.
Let simmer for 20 minutes and serve.
Ingredients for 22nd birthday dinner party extravaganza:
5 friends
Whiskey
Vodka
Wine (not too much wine, we will need to run out of it during the meal to cause tension)
Meatballs
Tesco value spaghetti
Guests to bring their own plates
A socially interactive dessert
Inappropriate table conversation, all things sexual.... going over the line.
The threat of a food fight at anytime
Once you have all your ingredients together mix however you see fit, if you do not have vodka Kopperberg will more than suffice as the next drink of choice. Make sure to have heating on so temperature of room is not comfortable and make sure that your guests are aware that if they are true friends of yours they will spill their dinner onto their laps.
Let simmer for 20 minutes and serve.
Friday
The following tale is completely hypothetical- it did not happen.
Once Upon A Time a young girl (age does not matter- just know she was not 22....) Was soberly walking home from an intellectual gathering of friends. At a very reasonable hour. As she trekked her way to the abode she got to thinking about the rear window attributions of vehicles. Namely vehicles that could be found on the aforementioned wandering homeward bound adventure.
This girl being of sound mind, "found" a way of removing windscreen wiper (the rear window ones, not the front ones- she is not an animal). She did this, twice. After this taste of rebellion she felt the need to continue on her apparent needless rampage. Turning over a wheelie bin in a dead of night (very quietly as she did not want to wake anyone, she would be very considerate that way). She also saw the need to swap some wheelie bins around. Giving them a new taste of life, broadening their horizons. She was doing them a favour really.
After this clear snipe at the justice system the girl wandered home. Climbed into bed and fell into the sandman land.
Upon waking she did not fully remember an accurate account of the previous evening events. Until she saw the windscreen wipers. She went through what she assumed must have happened. God left them there as a sign she was getting a new car for her birthday as she deserved it.
Then as the day went on it came back to her. She was a criminal. She belonged on crimeline in a cheap reconstruction that would paint her as a seedy blonde (played by a guy from Fair City). The guilt caught up with her in the early afternoon, no-one had to tell her to return the windscreen wipers. She was better than that... cough.
The mission was to go back to the scene of the crime and return the wipers to their owners. The girl realised as she walked in the broad daylight that Cork can on occasion give us that doing such a deed in the dead of night would have been far more intelligent. But there was no going back. She quickly, quietly and quite expertly clipped the windscreen wiper back onto car #1 and then put the other one on the roof and ran..... and ran... and ran some more.
Upon return to her home she decided that a life of crime would not her best option- given are idea of follow through.
End segment.
No Wheelie bins were hurt in the above tale.
Once Upon A Time a young girl (age does not matter- just know she was not 22....) Was soberly walking home from an intellectual gathering of friends. At a very reasonable hour. As she trekked her way to the abode she got to thinking about the rear window attributions of vehicles. Namely vehicles that could be found on the aforementioned wandering homeward bound adventure.
This girl being of sound mind, "found" a way of removing windscreen wiper (the rear window ones, not the front ones- she is not an animal). She did this, twice. After this taste of rebellion she felt the need to continue on her apparent needless rampage. Turning over a wheelie bin in a dead of night (very quietly as she did not want to wake anyone, she would be very considerate that way). She also saw the need to swap some wheelie bins around. Giving them a new taste of life, broadening their horizons. She was doing them a favour really.
After this clear snipe at the justice system the girl wandered home. Climbed into bed and fell into the sandman land.
Upon waking she did not fully remember an accurate account of the previous evening events. Until she saw the windscreen wipers. She went through what she assumed must have happened. God left them there as a sign she was getting a new car for her birthday as she deserved it.
Then as the day went on it came back to her. She was a criminal. She belonged on crimeline in a cheap reconstruction that would paint her as a seedy blonde (played by a guy from Fair City). The guilt caught up with her in the early afternoon, no-one had to tell her to return the windscreen wipers. She was better than that... cough.
The mission was to go back to the scene of the crime and return the wipers to their owners. The girl realised as she walked in the broad daylight that Cork can on occasion give us that doing such a deed in the dead of night would have been far more intelligent. But there was no going back. She quickly, quietly and quite expertly clipped the windscreen wiper back onto car #1 and then put the other one on the roof and ran..... and ran... and ran some more.
Upon return to her home she decided that a life of crime would not her best option- given are idea of follow through.
End segment.
No Wheelie bins were hurt in the above tale.
Thursday
NEVER decide that it is a good idea at 4am to finish a bottle of Vodka that is no way nearly empty.
Never smoke alot of cigarettes.
Never sit on a cold wet step talking about life while drinking said vodka and smoking aforementioned cigarettes.
Never walk home through the clearly signed blocked roads that are back street cork.
Never feel "alright" about the fact that there are two windscreen wipers on ones bedside locker.
moral of the story....
Never let me out again.
Never smoke alot of cigarettes.
Never sit on a cold wet step talking about life while drinking said vodka and smoking aforementioned cigarettes.
Never walk home through the clearly signed blocked roads that are back street cork.
Never feel "alright" about the fact that there are two windscreen wipers on ones bedside locker.
moral of the story....
Never let me out again.
Friday
90 posts... and what do we have to show for it?
The problem with scary films is the fact that they are... well, scary. The loud music, the jumping out of the shadows and the idea that things that have been DEAD WITH 50 YEARS can walk up and down the stairs blowing whistles did nothing for my nerves.
Study month has started. Ironically it opened with April Fools Day... this is a sign of things to come. Shakespeare won't read himself, archaeology won't research without me and James MacGaurhen will not be critiqued unaided.....
God dammit all to hell.
The problem with scary films is the fact that they are... well, scary. The loud music, the jumping out of the shadows and the idea that things that have been DEAD WITH 50 YEARS can walk up and down the stairs blowing whistles did nothing for my nerves.
Study month has started. Ironically it opened with April Fools Day... this is a sign of things to come. Shakespeare won't read himself, archaeology won't research without me and James MacGaurhen will not be critiqued unaided.....
God dammit all to hell.
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