Burgled! (also hello hello, been a while, etc)

Nothing major stolen from me. I haven't much worth stealing, it seems... An unopened perfume/make-up gift set I'd just gotten that looked valuable, some electrical items.... And a hat. (Which I imagine was used to prevent leaving prints as it was tossed outside by my back door). My housemate, however, lost laptop, camera, etc... Poor guy.

Landlady got an earful (seeing as it was entirely her fault) and agreed to take a chunk off the rent to make up for the fact I've been (a) robbed and (b) essentially been homeless for a week and a half. BUT my window's now been fixed, and new more secure bars go up tomorrow. I may then feel comfortable staying here again. I miss my room, but couldn't very well expect to sleep soundly with my window hanging by one hinge and only a bike-lock between me and the burglar's return.

The gardai who came to have a look around and take fingerprints gave us one piece of advice: Move.

Evidence of rats (and human-rats) hanging around outside our back door, bad plumbing (filthy)... But mainly because we are so completely exposed at the back of the house. The bars will help make the place more "secure" but, 'though we won't have another break-in, they will hinder a speedy exit in case of fire (actually, they'll make it near impossible, but that's a worry for another time)

So, move I shall. Not right now, but soon enough.

But where to? This prime-positioned but grotty home of mine may be convenient for work and everything but, come late September, Northside may be a better location as I'll be spending most days of the week doing my new course.
Yes. After a year working aimlessly, I'm going back to school again. I.T. this time. Should be fun!

Why I.T.? It just happened that way... I finished my thesis, FYPs and all the related rubbish this time last year. Done. I then went into a kind of hibernation - working away, minimum wage, pretending the epiphany would strike any minute and/or I'd be poached from my shop and whisked away onto the first rung of the career ladder of my dreams. Any minute now...!

I just went to work and wasted the months away; daydreaming, but not doing. Once fed up with that, I started trawling through course after course online...
Masters, Post-grads... Even brand new BAs... Evening courses, Part-time courses, Internships, Everything. I even looked into the possibility of packing it all in and going back to study Art! (Which is what my very talented little sister is doing, despite the fact I was the more "arty" child...)

I don't envy her achievements and plans; I chose the path to here, and am happy with that. What I do envy, however, is her certainty. She knows what area is hers, and even where within it she'd like to get to. A talent I lack.

I decided against the art thing. I didn't want it badly enough first time around, and I don't fancy investing another, what, 3-4 years in something I'm just doing for the sake of a pre-teen whim I've long grown out of. Once upon a time, it was my "thing". Not anymore.

I looked at courses in publishing, media, script writing, editing, radio, tv production, and all sorts of semi-related crap. Most seemed interesting. None seemed right.

I then saw an article on a website praising conversion courses - the handy way to re-route your studies with a short, practical, graduate-only course.

*click*

I.T.? Hmm... ok... just to see...

*click*

When the page loaded up, a list of modules appeared. All were subjects I've often wondered about, always wanted to learn more about, but never did. All were covered in one, fabulous year. I sent the deposit away today. It's official.

As for moving? The bars will buy me some time. I've been asking myself whether I'm ready to move in with himself yet or not. The dust is settling here, slowly, and my room and home will be my room and home again soon enough. When I can think straight once again, I suspect it won't be a tough decision.

Let's hope I don't procrastinate long enough to burn to death, 'though.

A funny doomed feeling..

Watching the NAMA thing in the Dail on telly - stressful. Not able for it, but can't look away. Between this and Lisbon 2, I've got an awfully sickly sinking feeling - but all I can do is watch as it all goes to pot. A lot of talk going on, all quite hopeless to be honest.

Christ. Recessions happen! It's natural; crap, and tough, but natural. The economy ebbs and flows and none of this knee-jerk panic is going to help - this bizarre plan is insane, and too risky to justify. Yet I'm listening to the bastards try and fail at doing just that... and wondering how they sleep.

I s'pose Cowen probably drinks himself into a coma, his huge red nose swelling with saturation, and whatever guilt he SHOULD feel, numbed. My mum said she feels sorry for him - Bertie having landed him in this, and all. But, I'm sorry, who was the Finance Minister under Bertie, again? Rudolf himself.

Anyone else up for a sesh on Lisbon night? Either to celebrate or mourn - whichever.

"May you live in interesting times..."


Bollox.

Surreal

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.