Thursday, August 20, 2009


Well, clarity is probably, definitely, the wrong word... But I'm suddenly thinking differently - and seeing things... differently. It's weird. And I wonder will it last, or is it just shock. If it lasts... then... well, that's gonna be weird.

How much can a person take? Could it have been anyone? What happened? Of all the little things, which was the straw?
Which word was it? Which breath broke it? Which piece last fit... and finished him?
I can think of other people far more likely than him. And they'll live lovely long lives. (Please God) Wait, no! Not that they're LIKELY.. Jesus, no! ..but, at least, I could've made some sense of it... if... oh I dunno.

How can I keep doing what I'm doing when I can't bear to turn out like them? The vampiric scum with their gaunt faces and greedy eyes and their cameras bulging from their anoraks, snapping at us from the church gate... Straining to see over the crowd... Reading the latest, it's clear one or two had the nerve to come inside.

And I think about friends I've lost touch with - taking for granted that I'll never speak to them again. Shit, like - I'd kick myself if something happened to them and I'd left things as they were.... but will i do anything about it? Will they? No. That's not how it works. (I wish it was.)

People always say what a shame it is that we only seem to come together at funerals.
"It's ridiculous - we should organise something soon!"
But it doesn't happen.... 'Till someone else dies.

All the time people say Life is Short - people don't really let it sink in, 'though. Those are heavy words if you really listen to them.

Rrrrrrgh. Rough morning. Home. Bed. Enough already.

I'll do the college thing tomorrow.


So, as expected, the vultures had the church surrounded... and if there's a picture of the dirty look I gave them in the paper tomorrow, then, so be it... Damn those shameless fuckers.

But it'll be yesterday's news tomorrow, and the family can - hopefully - have some well-needed rest.

It's a shit of a thing to happen.

It's funny - until the priest said it today, I had COMPLETELY forgotten about the charity box at his 21st last year. How could I forget? Rather than presents, drinks, etc, all he wanted was for people to throw a few bob - a small donation - into a charity box by the door. Sweetheart.

Hearing people talk about him made me feel a little better. Especially that girl - who'd been talking to the girl in hospital - who'd said He wasn't himself. The person who came into the house was NOT him. And if SHE can say that, and forgive him, then... that settles it.

I'm not sure what to do with myself for the rest of the day. Home. Bed. I dunno. For now I'm online. There WAS a good reason - I'm sure of it - but, instead of whatever it was, I've been poking around Youtube, and googling news reports, and obsessing (and raging) about them, and generally wasting time.

Oh yeah, that was it; I was meant to check my college email.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009


Life keeps getting weirder and weirder.

I've a funeral to go to on Thursday. I'm glad it's soon to be over and done with. Even gladder that the rota unexpectedly changed and I've the whole day off - and, therefore, don't have to give an explanation for something I'd rather not talk about.

When it's done and...laid to rest... the fucking papers may, finally, shut up about the whole incident.

Wishful thinking.

I don't really want to be a journalist anymore, to be honest. Not after the last few days' bullshit "reporting". Vultures. Soulless hounds. Vicious bastards.

I can't imagine what the families are going through. Reading that shit can't possibly make it any easier.

The whole city's talking about it. Everyone has their bullshit 2cents-worth to give. Everyone's an expert, a critic - everyone has an opinion.

But, I suppose, if I didn't know better, I'd gossip and coo and gasp about it too.

And, y'know, I genuinely doubt that (were I a clueless journo) I'd have written it any differently. In fact, I predicted it all - all the reports - the way it was handled and spun - almost word for word. That scares me.

This sort of thing usually happens to "other" people. Not real people. Not nice people. Not people you worked with and thought you knew.

RIP, a chara.

Monday, August 10, 2009


I didn’t mention this (mainly because I forgot) but, the other night (with the haunted house and the antics in Dave’s living room), Helen* decided to have a little heart-to-heart with me.

Aoife, I’m drunk enough now to say this – I’m really sorry if I was mean to you in Primary School.

Err… shut your face! Ha. No, seriously, we don’t need to talk about it. Water – bridge – all that!

No but, I don’t really remember, but I know I was horrible – etc etc etc

She seemed a little ruffled and verging on upset.

I assured her - don’t worry about it! Honestly, of ALL of them, she was the least. All she did was what she had to do – going along with them. Unlike the rest, she was never actually cruel to me.

Like, even those who were, I couldn’t care less about, and wouldn’t even accept an apology from. Not because I’m angry – far from it! But because I genuinely don’t care – we were kids. I was the new girl, I wasn’t liked. But kids are cruel and kids are stupid because – whether or not they turn out to be bad people later– they have their reasons and/or they don’t know any better. They don’t think. I barely remember, anyway. I’ll admit I don’t wanna rush out and make best best friends with them or anything, but I don’t resent anyone. (Despite the odd little rant…)

It was good of her, I guess, and (though drunk) she insisted that, had she the mind she has now, she’d have acted differently. But, sure, we can all say that. We can say that the very day after something happens. We can say it mere MOMENTS after. We’d do it differently. That’s my point, 'though; that’s why she oughtn’t feel bad.

Which, btw, is something I should probably apply to myself.

I did things wrong too, ‘though. And I was just a kid. And kids are stupid. So I should forgive me like I’ve forgiven and forgotten them. It wasn’t MY fault, either.
But I kicked myself for years – convinced it was my fault: I moved to Limerick and was picked on and was convinced it would have been different if I’d acted differently. If I'd been different, I'd've been accepted - I told myself. So, I'll be different.

I’ve said this before – I was convinced that only by moving to Dublin could I prove to myself that, whatever I did wrong then, I wouldn’t do again. With the mind I have now. But that’s stupid for lots of reasons. One being that peoples’ opinion of you isn’t something you can control – no matter what front you adopt or what you say. Neither can you control how you’ll get on with each other – some people click, others don’t. (And some who click end up hating each other, and some who don’t end up loving each other) It’s not something you can control – and yet I fight that reality with everything I’ve got – I have for years!

After moving to Limerick, I learned to mask my real self. Trying (too hard) to come across as smart/bubbly/friendly/confident/cool/outgoing/whatever in varying company – never quite relaxing and never quite honest until truly comfortably with a person. When I would drop the act(s), I’d suddenly become very aware of the fact I was ”gone all quiet” – and I’d be so distracted by my lack of input that I’d almost be too busy (thinking of something to say) to listen to anyone else!

And if, naturally, I AM quiet and a little reserved, and shy away from the centre of attention, then so be it. But I don’t feel I am. I, for some reason, believe I need an act in order NOT to be… but I still don’t feel that’s me. It wasn’t before Limerick, anyway. But that was a long time ago. And I doubt I’m half as inept as I’ve convinced myself I am.

I don’t really know anymore, to be honest. Really, I think it’s ALL me. Rather than putting on a front, it’s that I'm putting a facet of myself forward… maybe? That’s a nice way to put it. And, at least, absolutely everyone does it.

“Be yourself”? Silly expression. I say, which one?? Personalities are changeable – you are who you are, added to who you want to be, multiplied by who you’re around.


*Fake name. Which is pointless. As the readers of this blog will either have never met her, or know exactly who I’m talking about.

Sunday, August 09, 2009

“Any boys on the scene?”

Honestly, what sort of question is that?

Although, to be fair, when there isn’t... it cuts down on the breadth of conversation a little bit.

Oh, there’s plenty else to chat/moan/boast/gossip/debate about… but little that’s quite as satisfying as a good bitch/ponder-out-loud/comparative discussion on the latest “interest”.

And at least, when there’s an “interest”, it’s usually pretty interesting.

And coupled-up folk can feel self-conscious if they catch themselves rambling on about their someone around singles - especially those with nothing to report. God knows why. It’s not like giving up smoking, when you’ll start craving a fix.

Still… that being the only downside, it’s not the worst, is it? :)

Thursday, August 06, 2009

Back to...everything! (and PICS!)

Spent the last few days at home, but back in Dublin as of yesterday morning when I ran straight from train to house to work (got a taxi from the station to within 5mins of my house when I got stuck behind the Lord Mayor, who decided to trundle down the road I needed... as slow as...the slowest coach EVER... so had to get out and run home, then run to work.)

Today wasn't tooo bad at work... but yesterday... Oh yesterday...

First day back after a holiday is aaawful. Even if it was only a few days. Going home isn't really a "holiday", I know, whatever, but it felt like one - I had TIME. Loads of time! And could do what I liked for a while. Besides - I hadn't been home since the first week of June.

Had fun though! Stayed with my cousins one night - few drinks, few laughs.
Had a couple friends over for some DVDs and a catch up - turned into a few cans, packs of crisps, a treck to a haunted house, and bad karaoke/dancing in Dave's living room (???)
Went on a mini road-trip to Clonmel to pick up my friend's NOT-apparently-robbed purse, and do a bit more socialising...

It was 90% fun. There was also a migraine (graaagh - but at least it's the Test Month, so it's good, right? Research purposes and all that -- suffer on!) and a few moments when I thought about quitting work and coming home to try be there for/sort out some stuff with my family - but sensibility and reality set it, so that urge passed. I don't think it's as bad as I'm afraid (read: convinced) it is - I'm sure it seems worse 'cos I'm away... or something... Besides - who knows if I could even DO any good?

Anyway, here's a selection of scenes from the trip home. The last one's a house that - apparently, I hear - was intended for India. But lies in a small town in Co. Limerick. Apparently, the contractor was a spa, and mixed up the plans, and the poor little aul' house that he was MEANT to build is in India somewhere.

Creeping up to the haunted house...

The "entrance" (no pics inside, unfortunately! Too busy freaking each other out - forgot about camera)


Old Schoolfriend/Future Housemate & me!

Out of India

Saturday, August 01, 2009

The Clinic

So, went to a specialised migraine clinic in Cork yesterday... results? Well... hopeful, I suppose.

It was interesting! He finally confirmed for me that my local GP is the eejit I thought he was (tried for years to convince me I had eye strain, and told me to wear my glasses etc... growl...) and the specialist didn't see me, but his assistant/partner fello (who had a very nice, well-chosen pair of specsavers glasses - Osiris, double bridge... obsessed? Me? No!) did. Now, I must say, he was very thorough and helpful. And he took me seriously... (refreshing! As I'm sure most migraine sufferers are sick to death of stupid sceptical doctors) and the only part of the consultation that pissed me off was when, before leaving the room to fetch the "Big Guy", this assistant/partner dude handed me a patronising information leaflet... and a freaking migraine diary. Another freaking migraine diary. I could have cried.

My mum had come with me on the bus and, on the way, I had ranted about how I didn't want to be fobbed off with yet ANOTHER diary. I've been dealing with these stupid things for 10 years now - I KNOW my triggers and I KNOW what to avoid, but what frustrated me more than anything is these damn diaries and information leaflets. Know your triggers, reduce your attacks. Fuck that. Easy for YOU to say! And triggers can be food, alcohol etc, and that's fair enough - but some of my major ones include sudden changes in the weather, irregular sleep, missed or delayed meals, stress, changes in routine (including HOLIDAYS! Yes! Holidays are a big trigger for most people. Even without the heat, altitude on the plane, missing sleep and meals, and drinking etc, just the simple fact that they are a sudden change in routine can be enough to knock you out with a headache for half your trip! BULLSHIT. So I can't do ANYTHING?!)

Sitting waiting for them to come back, I became nearly hysterical with fury - I am NOT going to live my life like a China Doll! YOU try avoiding stress - LIFE is stressful!

Imagine it! Afraid to drink, going to bed at a certain time every night, scheduling meals, never missing breakfast or ANY meal, or staying up late or going out dancing. I point blank REFUSE to live my life by these shitty rules. Yes, I'll get headaches, but - even if I did everything in my power to prevent them, I'd STILL GET THEM! These fucking headaches are a nuisance, and it sucks when I get one, but they WILL not RULE my life.

If this guy comes back in now and tells me to avoid my triggers and live more responsibly or whatever, I may in fact smack him.

But, the big bossman specialist came in... and before I had a chance to open my mouth, said something like;
"I'm sure you know your triggers by now, and this diary is simply to record the frequency of headaches - and to compare and see whether the medication we're going to put you on makes a difference. Regardless of how you live your life, you ARE a migraine sufferer, and will get headaches but, hopefully, we can reduce them."

So, my plan is to wait a month before starting on the preventatives, and record whatever happens... and then take them for 5 months... and come back with my findings.

Fine so! If it doesn't work, then, feck it. At least he doesn't expect me to live like a frail, delicate, sensible coward. That's the biggest relief of all.

On break at work at mo, so best be getting back!