Today, I'm missing my old friends.

(And I haven't slept yet, so, by today, I mean Friday.)

I can't sleep. It's after 6am. I'm that eager to just be back at home. Even if it's just for a day and a bit. The first bus is at 7.30.

I always hated Limerick when I was "stuck" there; when I moved there from rose-coloured Galway... I looked forward to Dublin's new start so much.
Nothing's any different here.
I mean, yeah, things are good. Interesting, at least. But... dammit...

I've been looking for a job in Dublin. But I've only realised today that... well... I haven't been looking very hard. To be honest, part of me would LOVE if I didn't find anything, and ended up "stuck" in Limerick for the summer.



I found out today that a friend of mine is apparently engaged. Mad. It stung to have a complete randomer tell me - a jackass music-snob whose name I can't even remember - when I'm supposed to be.....
Well, I haven't heard from her in a long time.

I know she thinks I wouldn't approve - but that's not entirely fair. I would. Hell, I snuck them around for years! Despite thinking he was bad news, I did whatever I could to make her happy.

I wonder if that's why we haven't kept in touch... 'cos she thinks I won't understand.




TGInotFanymore.

There's a surprise...

D'other day I was given my first proper translating task:
Gaeilge -> English.
And, sadly enough, I found it fascinating! It's very, very like editing. And I very, very much love editing. But it's got the extra dimension of having to move between languages. And is, therefore, more difficult. (= more fun!)

It's like when I used to do life-drawing in Art class and it'd be perfect...spot on... every time....... except that I'd always 'neglect' to include that pimple, or the squint in their eye, or the frizz in their hair. I'd tidy their eyebrows... once, I even reshaped someone's nose! Just slightly. Just enough for them to say "Oh wow.. that looks just like me! Actually, I look really pretty in it!"

Ha. Editing people. Maybe that's why I like make-up so much. (especially crazy stage/costume make-up)

I love editing. Love love love it. I have been offered a certain editing position in DIT that I'm not sure if I can talk about yet... actually, I might have mentioned it on here before... God, i hope not... woops... but, anyway, I'm VERY interested. Yes, I'll be in my final year. Yes, it's quite a lot of extra work. But it's paid! And it's what I love. And it's less hours spent in this place.

Yes, I'm still on Harcourt St... but it's Feidhliocht tonight and that's easca peasca. With free coffee and bikkies.

Like normal, day-to-day, English->(better)English editing, you have a lot of freedom to do what you like with the text, but are kinda-sorta-not-really obliged to show some sort of respect for the original writer's take on it. And I like to... usually... except with that irritating German Erasmus chick...

*****sidetrack story***** ^_^
I was overall editor of our class' first edition of the Liberty (March-ish '08). We only get one shot at it, I was the only one stupid/ballsy enough to shoot my hand up, and, by God, I made the most of it. Complete layout overhaul (because it was boxy and horrible and dim.. btw, they've used ours for every issue since... *grin*) Anyway; German girl. I assigned a sub to her article, and she came moaning to me that they'd done it wrong. I asked her to talk to them about it, not me, as I had MOST of the rest of the editing/layout to do and the "team" of 20-something had dwindled to about 6 (on a good day...) and we were WAY behind schedule. But, when she once again found them "unhelpful", she went to 2 (yes, two) different lecturers who red-penned the article like a Leaving Cert. Irish paper. Back she trotted to me, proud as punch: "See? Here? I was right. This is not edited properly." And (frustrated, stressed, and low on nicotine) I asked, flatly; "You want it edited properly?"
"Yes!"
Ok.
I cut it, from over 600, down to 200 words. It was a ridiculous story idea, written all wrong, terrible English (that we would have let slide as she was an Erasmus student, but, she said properly...), very little interest or point... and I made a concise, pleasant, easy-to-read piece out of it. Unrecognisable.

There. Edited. Properly.
******************************

And we're back!

In case you've forgotten what you're reading:

Translating. Like editing. Only harder.

It's almost got an element of mathsy problem-solving to it. You have to break it down, take it apart, make sense of it in your head, and get down to the root of what the person's saying. Then re-say it. In editing, you have a frame that you can follow if you like - and you usually needn't rewrite the whole thing.

But translating - it's amazing. Blank canvas. You can say things in a hundred ways. And, when you aimsigh the perfect one - it's very, very satisfying. You need to forget about the language you're translating from, and start with no distractions!

That's why i find English->Gaeilge MUCH harder.

That's what they had me doing today. I'll never be as good as I am with the reverse, because English rules in my head and always will, and all I'll create is an Irish version of what I want to say, and I'm not allowed touch the English either! (which can be frustrating)




Ah hell... I still love it...!



But any of my Saol na Gaeilge friends who talk about how there's money in translating, srl... It just seems soooo.....
I dunno if it's for me. I could do it all day - every day. But there are a LOT of things I COULD do all day, every day. I think I'd quite like it. And my Irish - and English - would improve beyond belief. But... what about all these other things I wanna do that are far more interesting and risky...?

Thazit..

I'm tired. I'm done for the day. I wanna roll downstairs and have a cup of coffee. Then a cigarette. Then maybe another coffee. Then I'll go home and sleep.

But Aoife, you haven't posted in ages! Won't you write something interesting?!

Well, sorry, but this is all I've got at the moment.

Oh! I finished my cartoons. :) I'm very proud of them.

I've forgotten about that art competition - the deadline's Friday. There's still time! I just gotta get my act together. I have my idea, and even decided exactly how I'm gonna do it and what with - all I need is to set aside those 2 hours to actually DO it.

Oh, and I was gonna buy a scarf today! 'Cos I didn't bring one, as it was so beautiful when I left the house... but, by the time I got to work, I knew it was only gonna get colder. And I was right! It's freezing.

But I forgot to. So I'll be cold walking home.

So might stay for a drink. Just one. Central heating.

*shrugs*

"You are where you live"

Something in the Sunday Times (Irish, so we're clear) today caught my eye... stuffed in at the edge of Page 8 (most of the rest of which is taken up by a massive, melodramatic anti-smoking article calling for an overall ban on smoking in cars (to protect children, of course) ... Jan Battles can shove it)

It was about people of like minds/personalities gravitating to certain areas... living "in clusters"... very interesting... Not the (fairly basic) article (which I won't bother quoting, even), but the idea.

Do we?

The study was led (a while ago, now) by a Jason Rentfrow)... <-that's a link to a nice little page where he blathers on about it. Lovely little pic, too. Aaw. Lookit him. Proud as punch.

Maybe that's why I wanted out of (close-minded, divided) Limerick the minute I set foot in the place. Or why Phi and I both ended up in (dirty, rushing) Dublin. Or why I wanna move back to (cool, down-to-earth) Galway.

Phi said to me the other day that she thinks she's more suited to city life - she doesn't like to be on her own, likes to keep busy, and loves the general buzz. "You never know who you mind meet!" apparently. Dunno about that. How often do you meet, and chat to, new people in the city?

Though, I'd a lovely (if a bit strange) conversation with a fella on the Luas today - but that NEVER happens.

Right now, we have work and college. That's where we meet people (or... in nightclubs) and that's our community.

Read this - much better article (even though this one's about how his study relates to America). Had to laugh at the bit about the neurotic "Stress belt" - love it!
Maybe I'll move there. :P

Of all days...

Today I wanted to be fearless and confident.

Instead I am uncomfortable, heavy, icky, and slow.

I hate being a girl.

Eep.

I feel anxious. Since Tuesday night. Way, way, way, weh-heh-heeey too much happened Tuesday night. Still soaking it all in. Head whirring. Clearly I should never go away for a week. EVER.
I was away for too long and.. -= BAM =- ..come back to all this accumulated crazy.


Ok, that pic's a little bit of an exaggeration - I'm not pulling my hair out. Not quite. But I got carried away - and doesn't it look cool? Did it on Paint, in about 3 mins, and using a laptop touchpad?!
If I were you, I'D be impressed.... :P

Christ...

I can't believe ANY of it. Tuesday Bloody Tuesday.

Nice to see J again, axly.. Didn't see THAT one coming! What're the chances he'd walk by the very second I happened to be running up to lock the gate? Mad. Hope we both meant what we said about being friends. I didn't expect to be as happy to see him as I was. We were better as friends.

Anyway. I feel anxious.

Often when I feel anxious, I get a sick stomach.
Check.
And usually a migraine.
Check.
And I barely say two words to anyone.
Check.
And I can't decide what to wear so, distractedly, I throw on any old crap - adding to the overall air of troubled-ness.
Check.

Omg, I haven't even done my make-up properly today.
This is bullcrap. Fuck this. Snap out of it.

I'm just tired and grumpy.


Plan of action:
Shop. Neurofen Plus. Coke. Crappy Centra Sushi. Home. Shower. Sit in jamies, draw and draw and draw, and watch Breakfast at Tiffany's. Or, any DVD, really. Bitta Marilyn or Carey Grant, mebbe?

Song of the day: Pokerface.
Yes, we're all sick of it, but fuck it.

Look! An Art Competition!

I'm gonna enter.

I haven't entered one since I was about 11.

I'll let you know how I do.

Galway? :)

I can’t believe how much that week in Galway affected me. I’m still thinking about that week; last week. But not the nights out, not the classes, not the people I was with, not the funny moments - not even the WEEK… all that was fun, and very memorable etc… but all I can think about is the very last day.

We left Connemara and were dropped in Galway City on Friday to make our way home from there. And then I kinda accidentally lost everybody; heading off to check when my bus was, knowing the group was getting food, and then the train, together. I could’ve stretched to afford the train, but the bus was cheaper…

Also, I think after spending a week hanging out with people, a little self-company is pretty appealing… Ar aon nós, in the end, it was for the best because I decided to go to Limerick instead!

The bus wasn’t leaving for almost 2 hours.
So, laden down with bags (I am The Bag Lady – I always over-pack. It’s easier than deciding what to bring. I still never take the right stuff), I wandered the streets of Galway for a little while.

Here’s something weird – I was completely lost and don’t know my way around at all, but I kinda felt at home. I recognised little pieces (signs, shopfronts, funny micro-landmarks like confectionary stands – the odd, insignificant stuff a younger me remembered) here and there. More than anything, though, I recognised the vibe of the place. It felt comfortable. A better fit.

I barely even remember living in Galway, but I miss it. Is that mental?
… Probably a little.

When I moved to Limerick first, I hated it. I made friends (eventually) but I always hated it. I refused to say I was from Limerick. I was from Galway. My passport still said so. But I don’t still say so. After nearly a decade in the place, I stopped insisting I was from Galway, and instead set my sights on Dublin: new, big, busy, far away.

Anyway, I’ve decided I wanna live in Galway for a while. Not now – I have one more year left in my Journalism and Irish course. When I’m done, though, I’d like to look for a job – any job – there, and find a flat (on my own, or with randomers/students – don’t care) and just… see what it’s like. Start again. See what happens.

When I moved to Dublin, it was on my own. I wanna do the same again. Off to Galway, no plan, maybe sign up to some sort of something to have an excuse to go/opps to meet people once there, but I don’t really have a reason, or care what I do there. I feel like I want to go. And I’m gonna.

Maybe there’s a drawing course I can do? That sounds good. That’s my greatest love, and I’ve been ignoring it.
Why? ‘Cos I got scared away from pursuing it by someone who meant well and was right about everything else.

I don’t feel at home in Dublin, except in the Harcourt “Asylum”. And I don’t feel at home in Limerick, except in my parents’ house.

Maybe I won’t feel at home in Galway either, I wonder if it’s nothing more than a buncha rose-coloured kiddie memories… but the last time I did feel home-y was when I lived there, and an hour’na’half of wandering its streets last Friday was enough to make me think that it might still be possible to get that “home” feeling back.

I needed to get away from the exhausting, repetative schedule I've had for the last while and open my eyes. I'm glad I did.

Teehee..

I just realised - it's no longer Good Friday!

Sherry before bed, perhaps? ^_~

Highlighting what's important...

Earlier, was in Galway bus station, queuing for a ticket, smacking my lips and preparing to say “Student single to Dublin”... Then I changed my mind. I am now in Limerick. (Which is a bit of a surprise even to me)

I like it! Good to be home. Home-Home, not Dublin-Home.. Home-Home’s where the heating works, and the fridge is always full, and there’s a big tv, and a house phone, and a dog.. It’s where my room is. I love my room. I still have my Lion King curtains up, simply because I LOVE the strange red hue they throw on my (densely teddy-bear-populated) bedroom every morning... then there’s those kickass posters to remind me of my “crap” (ie. awesooome) early music tastes..

I spent the week in the Connemara Gaeltacht to improve my spoken Irish and… know the funniest part?
I spoke less Irish this week than ANY other week since… I dunno… September of last year? Apart from perhaps Christmas time, and the week I spent in Virginia this summer.

It’s only recently occurred to me that most of the friends I’ve made since coming to Dublin have, or are involved with, An Ghaeilge. I work trí Ghaeilge. I live in Irish-language accommodation. Most of the texts, calls, and about 30% of all emails I receive, are as Gaeilge. As for a base/home/comfort-zone community type thing? Rather than my college campus, it's that old madhouse on Harcourt street!

The hell..? If you’d told me Irish would become this big a part of my life two years ago, I’d have laughed in your face.

I pulled a Des Bishop before Des Bishop pulled a Des Bishop. True, I had the advantageous 13 years of groundwork (not that it counts for much) and, true, my tv series wouldn’t have been half as entertaining (being a far, far less successful comedian)… but I still can’t get my head around how far I’ve come.



I was thinking back… trying to figure out how it all started… how I went from grumbling about how annoying Irish "The School Subject" was, to raving about how vibrant and fascinating Irish "The Language" was.

Y’know what started it all?

A free highlighter!

It was societies sign up week in my first year in DIT. September 2006. And all the college societies were desperately pleading their case to new members – vying for the firsties’ attention – waving bags of freebies. Great buzz.

Anyway, I spot the free highlighters immediately. I love highlighters – cannot study without them. Pink is the first go-over, then yellow over the pink, so I know that the orangey bits are all I really need. Then I rewrite orangey bits onto new page, highlight, take out the orangey bits, and repeat until all I have left is one page full of mismatched words that make no sense to anyone else, but are all I need to glance at going into an exam. Each one stands for a whole paragraph - or a whole chapter, sometimes!

Anyway, these were great ones. Dual-headed! Pink and Yellow! AAAAGH!

Over I went, and I was assaulted by the most chirpy, friendly, and impossible-to-understand person I have ever met. Dazzled by her incomprehensible Donegal Irish, I took everything she handed me and hurried away.

Ended up really liking the Irish Soc (Cumann Gaelach - in fact, I'm now its Chair..) When they text me saying there was a “Léamh scripte” (or something) on, I was like, oh how nice! They’re going to read a script to me! :)

I turned up. Roomfull of actors. Not a word of English being spoken. And I was handed a script. Uh oh.

Despite not even understanding the title of the play, and not being able to pronounce a single one of my lines correctly, I was offered a small part – I looked the part, apparently! (I was told this, smiled dimly, half-memorised what was said, had someone translate later, and was THEN delighted.)

Weeks, then months, of rehearsing, and going to the pub afterwards, straining to get the gist of the conversation… most of the jokes went over my head… most of what I said made no sense and made me look like an idiot. But.. I gradually got better.

I’m thinking of doing one of the TEG (Teastas Eorpach na Gaeilge) exams to see exactly what my standard is at these days. I have no idea (it’s been so gradual and mostly hit and miss-style learning) but I’m told I’m quite good. And I speak it every day these days. As much (or perhaps more) than English.





I actually.. sincerely.. utterly.. undoubtedly... did NOT miss the fucking internet this week. They HAD a computer room. I was there once. That was plenty.
I felt like I’d woken up.

And now… I’m back online. And have just wasted an hournahalf on facebook/twitter/gmail/here.

Enough! I may just go for a walk.

And also...

This, right here, is my favourite post on any blog - ever.

Check it out! ^_^ Clickity click!

"Start it off with a Positive Jam"

I'm feeling more like myself today than I have in a long time. It's great! I took the night off work - yes, I'm down €50, and no, I can't work another night to make it up... but Who. Fucking. Cares.
I had a night off and it felt great.

Bowm Baahow-wowm pah bow'wowm bah dap waaaow... Positive Jam's stuck in my head and I loooove it...

I felt so, so sick and tired earlier. I wasn't even in work for very long - I was so dreading the idea of it, doubled over with a migraine for most of the morning, and I couldn't face going in 'till the afternoon. On my way in, I text a friend and thank GOD he said he'd cover for me tonight because I just couldn't face it.

I don't think I seemed too out of sorts, though. A little, but not nearly as much as I felt; which is always a triumph.

Right now though, I'm anything but out of sorts. Tonight was... therapeutic! And badly needed!

The typing seems to be keeping my roommate up, so I'll keep this short.

I tidied my room this evening. And I mean, REALLY. Reorganised everything, found stuff I forgot I owned, tried on clothes I can't remember even buying, cleaned out all the crap - I now know where everything is, I feel good, and I did it ALL listening to a playlist of what was my favourite music for years!

Old metal albums, bitta Floyd (although I kept skipping to the next song about a minute in - they bore me when I'm not "in the mood" for them, if ya know what I mean!) Lots of Punkins.. love them... bit of old skool punk and chillies and a whole host of surprises from the dozens of old mix cds I made/received over the years that have some of the most bizarre music on'm - God I miss this stuff!

Also, favourite album at the moment? The Hold Steady - Almost Killed Me. Where has this band been all my life?!

For my 21st back in November I got €50 of HMV vouchers and bought CDs for the first time since I was 16. And, feeling a little adventurous, decided I'd go for stuff that I had an inkling I'd like, but that was different to what I'd usually listen to. I didn't allow myself pick up any album by any band who I could name a song by.

So, as well as that fanTAStic CD, I got Narrow Stairs by Death Cab for Cutie (it's ok - I don't LOVE it though... anyone else think the singer's very Placebo-ey?)
And Love's Forever Changes that a friend recommended aaaages ago and that I'd been meaning to check out (didn't strike the chord with me that he insisted it would, but still, happy with my purchase. Different. Very different. And I love different.)

I forgot how much I like music.

I wanna watch Almost Famous again.

I should get that DVD.

God I'm in a great mood. :) I'd forgotten myself in all the busy hectic dramatic bullcrap. More nights off. More music. More gigs, too.. Thursday was fan-fucking-tabulous.

Yes, I hate that word too, but I used "fantastic" earlier and didn't realise till I'd already typed the "fan" part and had to go somewhere with it!

Ha!

Goodnight!

PS - got meself a webcam. I'm thinkin of giving this "Vlogging" lark a go. Any tips?

I ought....

... quit drinking.



Just to see.



G'night.

LADY?

"This Lady here was wondering..."

woah woah - back up. Lady?!

What happened to Girl?
I think the first time I realised I wasn't "girl" anymore was when someone in a Walmart in Florida said, "Can I help you ma'am?"

Ma'am? I'm not a ma'am! I must've been around 16.
I laughed - must be an American thing...
But it wasn't long 'till I started getting it at home, too.

Mother on street to kid: "Now, let the lady get by."

OH! And the worst yet?
"Where would you like to sit, madam?"

Madam my ARSE. I don't even think my Mum's old enough to warrant "Madam."

What's my age-bracket now... 21-35, right? My God that's a wide box. Imagining where I'll be when I tick the NEXT box is dizzying.

I still remember watching Saved by the Bell and thinking how COOL 16 year olds were and how I would NEVER get to 16. It seemed a lifetime away.

And, y'know, all things considered, my 16th year WAS pretty Sweet.
My first love... Wow. So many good memories... I hope he's well.
I'd found my first "real" friendships since moving to Limerick. (About time!)
My first biiiiiig gig! Metallica! :D Had a soft spot for anything heavy since.
I got my confidence, my happiness, and EVERYTHING back. Badder than ever. Me again. (Well, gradually! But it all started that year.)

Shit. I know there was more. But it won't come to me. Well, it's been a long week.
And it's Friday and I've just finished work and my back is killing me but I'm gonna pop out to meet some Limerick buddies that're here in Dubsville on some sort of college trip (or convention or something).

Really though, 21? When did THAT happen? Where'd all those years go?

I think I knew I was definately An Adult™ was when I got my loan. I'm in debt! And probably will be for most of the rest of my life.

All in all, though, it's exciting. This time next year I'll be nearly finished college. I'll probably have had SOMETHING published (hopefully! Should get onto that.) I'll have built up loads more experience (fingers crossed!) I might even have already decided my next move.

Knowing me? Nah! If anything, I'll be MORE clueless. I'll take a wild stab in the dark and end up somewhere completely unexpected and drive my parents a little bit loopier - but they'll laugh too 'cos it tends to work out for me. Bizarrely.

I mean, Journalism? Changed my mind 20 minutes before the absolute, last minute, online deadline for the change-of-mind CAO (College Application) Form. SO last minute was I, that I didn't even get a reply; seems the server JUST processed it, then closed up.

Whew.

Anyway. Even though, a few days ago, I tweeted that "I think I've aged since last week" (true!), it's not so bad. I may be An Adult™, but I've decided I am NOT "old" until I stop getting ID-ed while buying cigarettes.

I'm awake.

.. at 6.24am.

Fuck this. You must be joking,

I have till 4am.

Missed my bus and have to stay up to grab one at 4am. Grr.
For once there’s a point to me stayin up till 4!

And no, I can't just go to sleep and get up again - because I know me and I will NOT get up again.

So, hello blog. Fancy keeping me company while I wait?

Y'know… nightbus might be lovely. Dark, silence… the uninterrupted 3’na’bit hours of solitude that makes me look forward to the bus… bit of a nap, watch the sun come up… Nice.

The weekend was… nice. Limerick’s always a bit of a mental, rushed blur. So many people, so little time to see them – rarely get to spend REAL time with any of them. And usually spend most of my Limerick weekends asleep/braindead on couch thinking “my GOD I’m tired… more tea…”

I should try get home more often. Easier said than done, though.

I’m looking forward to the summer – to (hopefully) finding a full-time job in Limerick and re-acquainting myself with the less fair of my two cities.

I hated this place from the moment I moved here. I needed to go to Dublin on my own. I needed to get up, get out, and prove to myself that… well… I dunno.

I needed to prove myself to myself. Prove that I could do it – make a fresh start in a new city and not eff up. Prove all the crap when I moved here wasn’t my fault, but theirs. Prove I deserved better, and start new.

Is it any wonder I got hell in school? Moving to such a famously snobby area? Dickheads.

Escape!

And glittering Dublin was gonna change everything – full of opportunity and adventure. And that’s JUST what happened! And I love my new city – it’s everything I imagined, and more. But… I won’t claim I’m not tiring of it.

And, recently, I'm really starting to miss home - and fast approaching is the day when I can't pretend I live here anymore.


Y’know what I hate? Accidentally hitting “Insert”.


It’s been a nice weekend. Very little is left of all that “nonsense” that’s been going on for the past while. Few rumbles and glimpses of it here and there, but for the most part… All’s quiet… Thank God for that.
I know it’s not "fixed" – by no means is it over either. But it’s… settled. And that’s much easier on everyone than the crazed volatility I’ve come home to for months.

No one seems angry anymore. The space *she* created is doing everyone good – like I knew it would.

That’s a great thing about my family – we’re all quite hot-tempered… but it blows over quickly, and thoroughly. If you’d seen us today, you’d never know.

No, the anger has exhausted itself. I think we’re all a bit sadder, though. And I hate the house this… tidy… uncluttered… quiet.

Highlights of Weekend:
My first "foot bath" experience. I've always thought they were just for girlie girls. But it was heavenly and I don't care.

Movie nights - Friday and tonight - with Mam and Dad, with pizza and oceans of tea.

Free Guinness in the Old Quater Pub during the AMAZING Ireland v Wales match. My God. Best deal ever. No wonder I was hammered.

UNDEFEATED! GRAND SLAM! SIX NATIONS! AAAAAGH! I will remember that match as long as I live. Voice finally coming back - spent whole game roaring (espesh second half - fuck me!)

The food at R's dad's 50th - wow.

Chocolate Brownie - I was disappointed with the main course of today's mothers' day meal in Texas Steak House, but the desert was....*drool* (fyi - I'm NOT a picky eater. So, trust me, Lasagna must have been very, very bad for me not to eat it.)

PS - hope you enjoy strange scribble i added to post. Wanted to brighten it up with something. Couldn't think of shit. So! Tah-freakin'-dah.

My PostSecret. And why I'm "a sucker"

"I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do." - Romans 7:15

Found this quote on PostSecret (in someone's reply to one of the cards)... Didn't bother checking if the reference is right. I always like to double-check any quote I lift from someone else.

But it's 3 in the morning and I'm sipping sherry.

So.

I've been daydreaming today about what I'd put on my PostSecret card, if I were to make one... (I had a 3 hour bus ride to myself, ok?) Something so secret it had to be completely anonymous... I started thinking of all sorts of stuff - so much that I toyed with the idea of starting an anonymous blog.

But what's the point of that?

The reason I started this thing was to get over my fear of other people reading my stuff. I was never good at writing letters to people - I'd be happy with them at the time of writing, but I actually asked one or two people to throw out letters I sent them after reading them. Once was nerve-wracking enough - but the thought of it sitting there, for them to re-read at their leisure... *shudder*

That was then - this is now! And I'm getting cooler with it. Slowly. Still get a bit of a gut-wrenching "eek!"-sensation when anyone IRL says they've seen/read/heard about my blog..

But, look at me now! Post number 60, I think? (Around that, anyway!) Far more if you count the many many I deleted (when cold-feet feeling came back)

Yes, so, anon-blog = no help towards that, in any case.


Anyway, I was thinking of how O said I'm a sucker for punishment the other day.
How can I argue? I mightn't like to think so, but I kinda always have been.
I mean, check out this crap - I wrote that over 5 years ago, I think! I was in a similar spot of bother, convinced (just like now) that it was all worth it. That moment, "that" feeling - brief, pointless, empty (as it turns out), but... exciting, right? :)

Someday I'll get some sort of smacht ar mo chuid impulsive rash antics... Someday I'll realise that situations like this, though irresistible to me (ar fáth éigin) are... Silly. No good. Undesirable.
Bad, even!

... Not yet, though.


"I do not understand what I do..." -- but I kinda like it that way.

*snigger*

It's sick, and I shouldn't be so delighted by it, but I just stumbled across a person's Facebook page and LMAO-ed. It's someone who bullied me in primary school - and now they're FAT.

I shouldn't laugh. By their page, they seem like they've become quite a nice person (they had to develop a personality I guess... being FAT and all)

Also, we were all kids (before some of us got FAT) - and kids are stupid and don't MEAN what they're doing. At that age, no one expects the comments they make to affect a person's future - who even thinks about that?

I forgave them all the day of that ceremony they held in my Secondary school for the boy in my year who killed himself. I remember the moment that all that anger left me. A person (who gave me a far worse time than fatty ever did) was in bits crying... and, as I passed (having never spoken to them in years despite being in school together) put my arm on theirs and said something I can't remember.

And they said;
"Sound, Aoife."
And really meant it.

It hit me then; how dumb I was being holding onto that anger for so long. What did it matter?


This person, like fatty, was only one of many who contributed to the bullshit - and I know, I know; one has to take responsibility for the way one deals with things. Yes, it was cruel, yes, it was incessant, and yes, I nearly changed schools because of it (Pride stopped me) And, yes... I lost myself and didn't come back for a long, long time.

But, I grew from it. And, in a lot of ways, it's the best thing that's ever happened to me. Sounds like a cliche, but I'm stronger for it - and miles more confident now than I might otherwise have been. I made some of the best friends I'll ever have, too.

I could've hidden, or gotten rid of, my quirky weird oddness that made them laugh at me. I could've pretended I was someone else. I could've been a sheep like so many of them were. I could've had a much less interesting life.

Maybe I wouldn't have developed my insatiable drive to prove myself. Maybe I wouldn't know myself as well as I do now were it not for years spent as an introvert.

I wouldn't change a damn thing about my life. Because who I am, and where I'm at, today, is AWESOME. Even the crap stuff, the hard times, the heartaches, the (terrible) mistakes, the lowest moments of my life, the losses, the embarrassments, the guilt, the shame, the hurt... It's all a part of me. As much a part of me as any of my successes.

So, thanks! (.... fatty.)

What's in a dream?

Now,
I don’t believe in dream interpretation or similar hippy-crap, but I just woke up and would LOVE some opinions on last night’s mental dream.



I’m collecting money at the door to some event, that’s in some sort of weird run-down castle – but the background’s pixellated like an old N64 game… No. More like the first Tomb Raider for PC. The tickets I’m selling are bright, bright pink and people keep passing them around to let other people in.


The event’s like, a book launch – or, well, that’s how it started out... The guy running it was the cute bodhrán player from the gig last night – I think he was supposed to have wrote the book or something..?

I open the book and, for the first 3/4s of it, it’s a fairly normal-looking encyclopaedia-style book –about a fictional museum. Everything’s in it! All the fictional artefacts, the architecture of the building, the non-existent history of the building, even the people who work there and all the visitors. Big colourdy pictures – kinda like one of those children’s nature books. Know the ones I mean?

Then the last few pages are a play – set in the museum – but it doesn’t seem too interesting; it’s literally just about a bunch of weird character’s experience in the museum; taking a tour, stopping at the cafe, strolling round the bookshop, talking shite, in baaaadly attempted accents and costumes that were waaay over-the-top..

There was such a buzz that ALL my friends (from school, college, work) heard about it and arrived. Everyone decided to perform the play immediately (the book was such a smash) and no one would let me join in. My mum left early, so I took her book and started flicking through it while everyone got changed into their mad outfts. I’d no interest in it anyway – but I saw in the book that there was one particularly interesting artefact – a big freakin’ independence-day style alien in some sort of plastic restraint/display-box thing.

Oh yeah, at this point all the stuff was real. Dreams, eh?

So I run off to find it – how cool?! And everyone’s giving out and roarin’ at me ‘cos I’m supposed to be letting people in and the crowd’s getting bigger… but I don’t care! I finally find it and it’s the coolest thing ever. Not moving. Presumably dead. I just gawked at it, and someone (my brother/cousin? Don’t remember) suggests I “plug it in.” Low and behold there’s a remarkably normal-looking cable and plug coming out of the alien’s armoured wrist, and I plug him in to a conveniently close socket.

And then it comes to life and tries to kill everyone.
Actually, it only seems to be chasing me… no one else seems to notice and are goin’ about their business practicing the play and talking shite about how incredible it is. Whenever I pass any of them (fleeing from giant alien shooting lasers at me and making shit of the Tomb-Raider-y background) they shout after me “Hey! Get back on the door!” And I shouted back “I just have to sort this out first – gimme two minutes.”

Bodhrán boy is especially annoyed at me, and my friends who can’t get in – all glaring at me but no one helping, but that’s cool ‘cos if they helped the alien would see them (or so was my logic in the dream) – and it was me plugged it in. I was just like, fuck sake, can’t someone else let people in??

I woke up before I sorted the alien out.
*shrug*

Well?

Damn

Shit-Damn-Bollox-Arse-FUCK THIS!

That was very stupid.

... Oh well...

What now, though?

RrrrrRRRRGH! I'm soooooo tiiiiiired ooooooof thiiiiiis...