Fucking "Feelings". They ruin everything.

I’ve fallen out with three of the people I respect most in the world. Well, not so much fallen-out… “Lost”, more like… as in, Friendship Over. And I don’t mean recently (though one was recent enough, but a long time coming) but, rather, over the last few years.

And it’s the greatest shame when it happens. There’s a grief to losing someone from your life; whether they’re still alive or not doesn’t ease the pang. Part of life, I guess. “As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons” is easier said than done.

The first two helped me regain myself. The falling out, and fallout, may have been ugly, but I owe everything to them. Well… a lot. They helped me to cop on and remember who I was – all the while helping me to be better. I worry about both; one to a greater extent than the other, each because of their respective, fatal flaws that hold them back, unbeknownst to them. I think they’re perfect, though. As close as people get. I think about them both all the time. I still text them the odd time; more and more infrequently until it’s barely once a year, praying for a friendly response and an invite for a coffee/pint. Not likely. She’s still too angry; the grudge-holding type. And he’s in another world… and won’t be coming out of it, I don’t think.

The third caused me more harm than good. And I don’t say that in retrospect alone; I knew it all along. But how can you help it? When you think so highly of someone? It’s a pain, the bullshit that comes into it…. Attraction, distrust, secrecy, suspicion, dishonesty, insensitivity, alcohol, bitching, miscommunication, taking one another for granted… People are never just people with each other – there’s always all these stupid issues, beliefs, fears and feelings that warp and ruin and complicate everything. Bullshit.

But the rest makes it irresistible; the company… the occasional, glistening understanding… the relief that someone almost “gets” it… their voice and opinions, music and jokes and sense of fun… That’s what you miss. That’s what you remember. God, she was so much fun! And he could have done ANYTHING with that mind and that talent – the best musician I’ve ever heard.

Well, that’s what I remember. And the aforementioned bullshit is forgotten in an instant, as far as I’m concerned, when you bump into them for the first time in ages… You just wanna dig inside their head and know everything about them, and how they’re getting on, now. You’re dying to just grab them in a big hug and squeeze really tight and hope to God it never happened. But you don’t. ‘Cos you can’t. ‘Cos it did.

And, with any of them, I’d love a clean slate. Start over. I’d love the chance to meet again for the first time… Erasing those wretched stains that sour a well-lived-in friendship. I kinda had that op with the third person I mentioned... But, not really... Just as doomed as last time, with obstructive, underlying grudges on top of it. And pride. Pride can be poison. Christ, there’s still so many things that make me so, so angry to think about. The fact that he’s angry, for example, over something tiny that I don’t even remember doing. The NERVE. After all I put up with, and over something so stupid?

I made few complaints, tried to understand, pretended it didn’t bother me when he (seemingly) didn’t give a shit, and he’s in a huff with me? He can stay in it. Friendship Over? Fine. I’ve done enough to try sustain it. I’m done making an effort, doing little favours, actively BEING a friend. He wasn’t a friend to me. One time he WAS really there for me – but that was more out of coincidence than anything else. And he told me later that I’d been melodramatic. Nice. Ok, no, it’s not fair to say he wasn’t a friend to me – a few times, a little bit, he really was.

It’s not like I could call him for a vent or a chat or anything, ever. Well, I could, but the idea makes me uncomfortable. Squirming at the thought! He has an incredible talent for making “Hey” or “What’s the craic?” sound like “Is there a particular reason you’re bothering me and can we make this quick?” I could never tell if it was intentional or not.

But. Anyway. Like I said; that’s not the bit I like to care about. How important is it? I may be angry, but I still hate the idea of losing touch. I just wanna be friends. I just wanna know how the exams went. I wanna wish him well. I wanna say goodbye. ‘Though… keeping in touch is not my call. It has to be up to him. Why? ‘Cos any effort from ME to get in contact would probably be seen as attention-seeking, so-called “clingy”, behaviour in his head… And he wouldn’t respond anyway.

I’ve never had a friend I was so afraid talking to – sitting in Bewleys, biting my tongue, watching my every word. The hell?! It was the weirdest “friendship” I ever had. His critical eyes terrified me by the end. But, that Valentines, and those first few late nights this time round (before he said all that shite and changed everything; before issues, beliefs, fears and feelings interfered)… Those nights and chats were something else…

And I’ve heard nothing from him since that awful morning… when, despite my put-on cheerfulness, I had a lump in my throat going up Grafton St. Same as last time. Perfectly reasonable, in his head, I’m sure. I’d like to be able to say I trusted him and was surprised, but that’d be a lie. I knew it would happen (no wonder I couldn’t sleep). I was prepared. But, y’know what, I had still really hoped I was wrong and it still fucking hurt when he was finished we me - when we just suddenly weren't friends anymore. It hurts. Which is weird, 'cos I'd never admit it. Not after the fool I made of myself last time. And if the ONLY way I’ve slipped up and SHOWN that was one drunk, pathetic text message, and this blog post , then I think I’m doin’ pretty fucking well.

Issues, beliefs, fears and fucking feelings can rot friendships… You can’t ever really wipe those niggling things out. And they make it so hard to stay in touch. Why make the effort? Why not just convince yourself you never cared and move on? There’s plenty more people around who you care about less… and, thus, hate less. So you’ll go for coffee with them. And it’ll be just lovely.

"Interesting"

Well, he had the balls to come into the bar... I may have thought he was boring after that date about 3 months back (when pretty much all we talked about was me and what I've done/do, and he (having long since run out of stuff to say about himself) sat in open-mouthed awe), but you have to respect him for braving that underground, Irish-speaking dungeon. One of his friends looked enthusiastically bemused, the other sat in grumpy silence, but G really made an effort!

Now, I can't say for sure if it was just to check the place out, or to come lookin' for me, but - bless him - he really tried! And I WAS kinda, sorta, half-delighted to see him. And, low and behold, didn't I just get a text off him there...

Maybe he deserves a chance. Maybe my definitions of "boring" and "interesting" need revising, too. Just because he's not ambitious and was happy to go straight into a safe, secure trade from secondary school... and just because his biggest passion in life is Movies (and only modern ones at that)... doesn't make him boring. Who knows. Maybe he does have hidden depths and ambitions. And, pssht, how important is it anyway.

Moving Away

I'm 6. Or 7. I've got my hands pressed against the window of the car and I'm sobbing, and waving... and then I pull it together and close my eyes. It's an ok day. Weather-wise. All my soft toys are in one big huge box in the moving van, except for two which accompany me for the car-ride.

I met Chloe King on my first day of school. With the innocent confidence of one completely ignorant of cruelty, I bounded over to the first girl I saw, plonked myself down and introduced myself. Then on, we were inseparable.

I wrote to Chloe a lot when I moved away. Almost every day! Problem was, I'd usually forget to send the letters. Or else I'd decide against sending them; by the time they were in the envelope, they felt out of date, or I'd think of something else, and want to write a new one.

Then I'd forget to send that one, too.

We moved back a year and a half later - I was delighted. It didn't matter that I hadn't kept in touch. My new school had been weird. All girls. Most of them mean. I was so happy to be back! Stuff had changed, but not a lot.

A year later... we were off again. (thanks to my Dad's job) To Limerick.
It was starting to get easier, though. And I kept writing letters. Again...I mostly forgot to send them. So my friends mostly forgot me.

This last move, 'though, changed everything. And it didn't look like there'd be any moving out of here.

I hated it. Just when I joined the class (around 9 years old) another girl (who everyone had loved) had moved away... so I was not only the new girl, but the replacement. They had high hopes for me..(that I didn't exactly meet)

Then, someone decided they didn't like me. And that was the start of my warm welcome to Limerick that had me itching to get out of there...

To move again. The other times hadn't been so bad. I wasn't sure if it'd been me, or them, or the school, or the area, or WHAT the problem was - but there was definitely a problem. I didn't belong there. I never would. Even when I made some nice friends, fell in love...even knowing it's where my parents are... not good enough. It's not right for me and never was. I couldn't stay and couldn't explain why.

I moved to Dublin. To see. To start again.

's going ok. Still not right, 'though...not quite.

Whenever someone asks me where I'm from - I kinda stumble over the answer. What I wanna say is Galway, but I don't think I'm entitled...
I was born in Galway, but don't remember much, or have any friends or ties there, really. I left before I knew very much of what went on outside my housing estate.

And Limerick? Well, I lived there the longest. Even if I hated it, it's the most like home - purely 'cos I'm most familiar with the place.

I wrote about moving back to Galway before... and still think it's worth trying... but who's to say I won't be bitterly disappointed?

I think I turned my back on Limerick too quickly. I severed ties with a few very valuable people. In a few cases, there's no going back. That's NEVER good.

In Galway I had friends - it was easy! Because I was never the new girl. I was part of their world from the word go and more confident than most (because I didn't know any better back then..) I never had to build that community up... it was just there.

In Limerick, it took a long, long time to get a nice group together. People I could trust with my life, people I would do anything for.

Maybe, instead of wondering where I'll run to next... maybe I should stop forgetting to send those letters... return those calls... answer those texts... and make more time for the people I DO have... and make more of an effort to KEEP them.

I'm looking for that homely, comfortable, happy feeling in all the wrong places - haha - because I'm looking for it in PLACES.

If I have people, even if they're scattered all around the world, that's all there is to it.

Day Off

(To distract from the previous, irritatingly cryptic and off-putting post, I'm writing another!)

It's my day off! And last night was amazing, but there was no waking up drenched in vodka-flavoured sweat. In fact, I felt quite refreshed! And it's intermittently sunny/warm and cloudy, and I have all day! ALL day! I might go to penny's. Or sit online for a little longer.

Having no internet at home is a pain.

Life's good ,'though. Really, really good. My workmates are complete utter legends - psychos! A mad mix of Metallers, mentalers, migraneurs and gaelgoirs. I like this no-weekends work-style too - I get two days off a week, that seem to have settled now on Tues and Thurs and, 'though there mebbe a little more swapping 'round in future, I really like the current arrangement! Instead of being burnt-out on Friday, the breaks come just as I need them. And being rostered for Sunday means a half day! And having weekdays off means banks and other weekday-specific shit is your oyster.

I'll still be able to go home, once in a while... hopefully... (I don't actually know, to be honest..) But! Money money money! Save save save! It'll be so worth it. Really!

Honestly

I wish everyone would just shut up and realise they're talking shite. Making noises. Might as well be grunting at each other, for all the good it does. Conversation? Nope. Not by my definition...

I'm just not in a people mood today. Not in the mood for listening to, and pretending to care about, the drivel they're spewing.


I've no internet at home, so I should probably use this opportunity to write some awesome post... but.. nope. That's it.

Workin my way through my Marilyn Monroe box-set - love it. Must get the other half of the collection some day..!

My jobs have me nackered. The full-time's great, and the other part-time stuff...well.. I can cut down a little once the first payment comes my way.

I HATE having to wait a month for my money. But - Christ - it's gonna be sweet.
26th of June. It's gonna be a hell of a night out.

And I'll get my hair done, and shop somewhere OTHER than Tesco's, and and - maybe a new hairdryer that isn't a fire-hazard! :)




Really! Look at this place. It's so... bizarre. Out of place everywhere in the world. With it's politics and it's drippy pipes and it's ...everything.
How did I get here?

Sometimes I have to do a double-take; like, really?! This is MY life? Where'd it all come from? How'd it all happen? And what the fuck is next..?

Just my fucking luck. Woo.

I got a job. A perfect job. A 5-day, 9-6, ok-paying, nice atmosphere, happy, clappy, dream-come-true, summer job. The sort of job no-one can find at the moment.

Part of me's thrilled, and so, so grateful: No more money troubles! No more shame at borrowing from my parents! Guaranteed to be able to stay in Dublin! Even the possibility I'll be able to SAVE some money and not need to work so much during my final college year! Wow. Fairly jammy.


But... Fucking shitting bollox why did it have to happen?


Another summer. Another fucking summer working. In my last post, I talked about my plans... Plans for the last summer I have before college ends and I'm into the real world; Plans for doing stuff I've never had time to do; Plans for relaxing, bumming around, talking to people, going for walks and reading; Plans to do and try and savour whatever popped into my head; Plans for living without any plans for a while.

This is my last - LAST - summer like this. Last summer holidays. I haven't had a summer "holiday" (where I didn't spend the whole thing working) since... Summer '04, I think? Or '05... whichever.

Every summer since, I've taken no more than a week or two off. Every short break and midterm, I was usually working, or studying, or both. DIT's course structure even means we study over Christmas.

I sound like I'm complaining - I'm not. I like my life. I know there's loads of people in the same boat. And worse boats. Terrible, rickety, moth-eaten boats. And I've had this whole week (well, 4 days - almost a week) to chill and lie in the sun and chat on the phone and sleep and drink in the late afternoon and go for long walks... and it's been sunny and beautiful and I got a bit of a colour (a half a shade less pale. Which is the darkest I go, unfortunately. You won't notice - but I'm thrilled.) And I have half of tomorrow to do the same.

But I had gotten used to the idea that I wouldn't get a job (see last post)... I had decided to refuse the first job I was interviewed for, before they even offered it to me (as it would take me away from various other commitments that I didn't wanna break)... I was praying they wouldn't even call back at all. (They didn't, as it happens.)

Today, 5 minutes into the interview, it was clear that my CV alone had been enough to convince her, and that she just wanted a gawk at me before I signed the forms. The job was mine the minute I introduced myself. Right place, right time, right fucking lucky thing to happen. She seemed lovely. I left with my new uniform under my arm and a bittuva dazed grin. Over the moon!

Then, a few cigarettes later, it hit me... Yes, I am so, so lucky to have tripped and fallen into this job so unexpectedly, easily, suddenly, randomly, whatever..
But my break's now over. I need the money. I need to work. I've been offered a job. I start Monday. End of story. End of fun. End of sun. End of laziness and idyllic days.

I have absolutely no excuse NOT to take it. If I had tried, and failed, to get a job, I could guiltlessly while away the sunny days... sipping tea, packing lunches, smoking rollies, walking everywhere, maybe giving grinds or babysitting for the odd bit of cash...


My free-living, string-free, hippy-fantasy will remain just that.


When I took that first full-time Summer job, I guess I didn't know what I was getting myself into.

I got a taste for making my own money. And, if I'm honest, I couldn't get by without it. My parents will do their best to get me out of a jam, but I hate asking them for anything...

I've already started and there's no going back.
Tasted blood; want more. Hooked and completely reliant.
I'm gonna be working for the rest of my life.
And, though it started years ago, to be honest it comes as a bit of a shock. Which is stupid.
Must've forgotten what age I was for a minute there.

I have a plan.

I hadn't expected to like PS I Love You. Imagine my surprise when I loved it.

I'm home! Nice to be home.. went to a hurling match in Thurles with dad... sat out in the sun with mum for a few hours... ate lovely non-student food... laughed at my dog's darling antics... (she's a ball of fluff... she stares into the pond all day... whines and refuses to move after even short walks... when thirsty, she does this attention-seeky, "poor-me-look-what-I'm-reduced-to" thing of licking the floor and gazing sadly at you... etc)

House is odd without the cat. Poor Heidi.

And the siblings! But it's nice too.

..I needed time to think; to process, to unwind. I was squinting at a jet trail overhead when it hit me that I hadn't felt so relaxed in years. Years? I can't believe that. But it's true. I'm a strung-up stress-junkie who is losing interest (fast - i ngach rud) through sheer exhaustion.. (Not good) .... and who never has me time - except between 2 and 6am, maybe, and only at the expense of sleep.

Not on. It's just not on anymore. I work too much/hard/everything.

I need to think about it ALL. Get a life.



I applied for a job, and they're going to let me know Wednesday. Up until today, I was desperate to get it and get back to work.

Now (and maybe it was the lazy, hazy sun's influence, but...) I think I'll graciously say; "No."

This summer - the last summer before this daydream of college ends and reality strikes - I wanna do stuff I want to do.

Maybe I'll... ehm... Paint. Write. Sleep. Rest. Take up a class. Jog. Quit smoking. Re-learn piano... or German.... Maybe give grinds..?

Maybe I'll spend the whole summer spit-shining all those rusty friendships. I'd like that. Whenever I come back to Limerick I get different pangs for different people wherever I go..

As for money.. well.. Club's always there. It'd be tricky to stay in Dublin on that pay alone, but...
I have the bones of a plan. Or, the bones of a few plans, at least.

For now. I'm relaxed, and in no hurry to return to running solely on cigarettes, coke, a dwindling force of will, and stubborn, sleep-deprived energy. Why should I? I am not gonna waste another minute worrying about money. I will get by. I will NOT be an exhausted, over-worked wreck for money's sake anymore.




PS ...I am really, really getting into this Sky Digital menu screen music...