Haircut!

Since dying my hair brown, I've taken a new inerest in the thing. For a long time I've taken no care of it, whatsoever (as evidenced by the ratty ends, fluffy condition, and odd limbo-"style" that's neither curly, straight, or even wavy, to be honest...)

So, I'm getting it cut today! In fact, I'll keep this brief or I'll be late for my appointment.

Chopping off the green-ish ends (not exactly punk-rock green, and my friends tell me I'm imagining it, but there's a sheen off of it that simply MUST go) - that'll make it look like it's in better condition, it'll be less heavy and lank, and, the colour'll look fresher!

Gettin' a wash and blowdry - though hate the way they always flatten it - all straight and dull. I am not a straight-hair girl!

Yikes, I'm officially gonna be late now - bbl! (...perhaps with a new fringe! Gasp!)

RE: "Interesting"

That post there a few posts ago - I changed my mind. It'd be pretty unfair to meet up with him when I'm so...blatantly not interested. Shame. I want to be, but can see where it's going and don't like it.

Most posts on here, I've regretted the second I've written them. With an attitude like that, you may think I shouldn't have a blog - but that's exactly the reason why I have one...

...To tap away in an internet cafe and get all the rambling crap out of my head and into the e-abyss. :P

Rather than respond to that irritating email...

... I said I'd write a post! Don't worry - I haven't given a thought to what it'll be about, so it'll be as here-and-there and rambly as any of mine. Yay.

Saw someone walking down Grafton St with the hoodie we designed for our society. My logo, C's design; awesome! Turned my mood around - bigtime!

Stressy day at work. Very, very tired. Regret staying late in the Mezz last night - but, hell, that band were pretty effin' brilliant.

Bought some CDs - wooo!

I love where I work. It's so bizarre working somewhere where I was so often a customer, seeing the inner-workings of it all, working alongside the people who fitted me for my glasses a year ago, going downstairs and barging through the staff-only door I'd always wondered at, getting better eye-related advice and understanding than I'd've ever got as a customer... I'd've never known to ask! It's fascinating. I work with a cool group of people too.

I get too involved with some of the customers, though. One time, I was so adamant that there MUST be something I could do to help someone, that I ended up pissing them off. I tried one idea, it didn't work. I tried another - failed. Again and again, all the while, the person's hopes are roller-coaster-ing and he's getting (understandably) irritated... I eventually give up - having been told by a superior that there was no point, nothing we can do, etc. And he FLIPPED. But can you blame him? If I'd listened to my supervisor in the first place, instead of desperately exhausting every option... if I'd made less of an effort... and said straight out: "Nah, sorry man" .. then it'd have been a much smaller deal..! Ah well. I tried. Even if I did drive the poor guy demented.

Helping people's great though, when it works out. Fixing glasses is the best bit - they're (usually) always so grateful.
There's worse ways I could be spending my summer.

And I know I haven't been updating the blog much, except with weirdy, not-well-thought-out stuff here and there. I've no internet at home, and little time, and too much going on. And that's not such a bad thing!

Oh, and I dyed my hair brown Sunday night. I'm kicking myself at not doing it before now. It's the darkest it's been since I was about 13 (it's been varying shades of light brown, red, purple.. and, finally, 2 years of blonde) - and I adore it. Even if it IS taking some getting used to.

My parents are gonna load into the car, with my sis and brother, and troop up to Dublin this Sunday - to take me to dinner as a combined Bday dinner for Rob and my dad, and a treat for lonely, far-away me. I am so, so excited about it - disproportionately, maybe! But... y'know, it's the best news I could've possibly ever, ever gotten right now. I can't think of anything I'd rather do.

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...

Today, I stood up to a wasp! ^_^

I’m sorry, but I’m very, very excited about this and HAD to post.

I’m not afraid of much – I’ve always wanted a pet snake or tarantula. I think mice are adorable. As for insects… Flies are a nuisance, ants are to be avoided, but aren’t scary. And bees? I actually quite like bees.
Wasps, however, petrify me.

They always have. Don’t ask me why. I haven’t the faintest idea. It’s completely irrational. It’s nothing to panic over. And it doesn’t make sense that bees don’t scare me. I’ll hear the buzz and begin to panic and see it’s a bee and go “whew” and relax.

I’ve been stung before – and it’s not so bad. A little pinch, and itchiness. Not so scary. I get migraines every week! A wasp sting is NOTHING. It’s not that painful. And I know this. I know it well. But knowing that doesn’t help.

It’s the way they flit around and are everywhere at once and are so fast and small; before you know it they’re behind you, or beside your head, or in your hair, and they chase you when you run and they buzzzzzzzz so viciously and the noise is all around you! And, I dunno, I’ve pretty bad depth perception too so when a wasp is there zig-zagging towards me I can’t tell how close it is and – argh.

Horrible.

One time there was one in my room, and I hadn’t noticed, and I was standing in front of my wardrobe, and I heard the buzz – directly above my head – and, without thinking, I dropped to the floor and scrambled out of the room… army-style. You’d swear a grenade had gone off.

Another time I was staying with a friend, and we got home from a party around 5, and at 6 or 7ish the sun came up, and the wasp that’d been in the room (asleep on the skylight) woke and started circling and screeching and I was awake and out of the room before I even remembered where I was. Not wanting to wake anyone, and having taken my duvet with me, I sat on a chair outside the room, hoping the little shit would roam into the hall and I’d be able to dive in and barricade the door behind me.

My friend found me later that morning, sound asleep on the chair, duvet ‘round me, still clutching my rolled-up magazine - waiting. He walked into the room and casually shooed the monster out the window. Mortified, I went back to bed.



*****



Some psycho woman went for me in the bar last night.

I quietly, smiley-ly, politely asked her to stop spraying deodorant on her feet in the middle of the bar, as another customer had said they were allergic to those sprays. I suggested she maybe go up to the bathroom or something.

“Are you threatening me? Fuck off!”
No, of course not, there’s no need to raise your voice…
“Where are you from? Listen you dirty cunt, I’m a Dub, right? I’ll kick the fuckin’ gee out of ye!”

Charming, eh? I’m still not sure what I said to set her off.

Unsettling? Yeah! Unexpected? Definately. But scary? Not really. I didn’t know what to do, and when she swung at me and kicked me, I blocked, but mainly just stood there like an eejit, knowing the lads would be back any minute to gimme a hand, quietly asking her to calm down – I knew I’d be in serious trouble if I so much as laid a hand on her, and didn’t raise my voice once. By the end I’ll admit I got a little thick with her, maybe – but you should’ve heard her!

Anyway, the other barmaid finally came downstairs and helped me get rid of her. She’ll be barred for good. Turns out she was barred years ago for similar erratic/violent behaviour. Our club’s like a magnet for oddballs… What happens to people to make them that way?

That should have been scary, right? Apart from the (godsent) customer who stepped between us, I was on my own with the batty bitch.
But it was grand, like. I kept my cool.
And yet I’m petrified by a little wasp?



*****



Today, I heard that familiar, harsher-than-yer-average buzz… and froze.
But, this time, I didn’t sprint out of the room and slam the door in panic. OR hide in the bathroom.

I kept calm(ish)… I crept over to the window that it was bopping its stupid little head against. I slowly reached up – my hands inches from the tiny, angry beast – and pushed it open. And… miraculously… out it flew!

Just like that.

I am so proud of myself.

In another, maybe.

And, with a sharp gasp that could be felt in the air, the plane took off. She wasn’t watching, but could feel it. By some invisible string, trailing from the craft, a weight was hoisted roughly, and her tense shoulders rolled and slumped into a sigh. She was free. The spell had lifted. She had revisited the past and found it as crisp and clear as her memory – and unchanged.

Intense, vivacious, almost convincing... and finally over. Not what she had hoped; but exactly as she expected.

She had asked for nothing, and received generously of it; lost nothing, and gained some insight, and her answer.

It wasn’t her fault.

Deja Vu

My sister's graduation was last Thursday - she's officially finished secondary school (starting the Leaving Cert. in mere days - eep! I don't envy her that..)

It was... weird.

I went with my dad, because my mum was away on a trip she'd booked long before she knew the grads date. Doesn't it always work out that way? Anyway, I said I'd go - I wanted to. I've been dying to go back to that school for a long, long time.

And I had all these ideas in my head...
I was going to talk to my Irish teacher (who'd thought I wasn't great, but had potential) and tell him how much I'd learned and how involved in Saol na Gaeilge I was now, and how big a part of my life the language is now... how much I'd seen and heard and learnt... all my plans...

And I was gonna talk to my old English teacher, and tell him all about how journalism was going and thank him again for being such a huge inspiration.

And I was gonna talk to my old Art teacher, and tell him I've been neglecting my drawing etc. but that I'm getting back into it. And ask him how things were; that I'd heard he'd been ill.

And I was gonna talk to my old maths teacher - and thank him for scaring me off going to Art college. He probably saved me.

And I was gonna walk in with my head held high.

...

It didn't quite go like that.
It was really, really strange.

My sister's friends told her her dress was too "club-wear"-y, so I lent her one of my dresses.. and a handbag... and some shoes... and my jacket... and she walked out of the house looking EXACTLY like 18-year-old me. In fact... I remember wearing that dress to the year above me's grads...

As I walked in with my dad, my old principal (standing in the exact same spot, shepherding people the exact same direction) stopped me to ask what class I was in. I had a feeling he was just about to comment on the fact I was late, when he did a double-take and said, "Oh! Sorry. It's your sister."

At the ceremony, they read the same poem - Desiderata - that they'd read at mine. And, just like last time, I mouthed along - having memorised the words years ago. I was a little rustier this time.

The speeches were the very same kind of funny... students and teachers poking fun at each other with all the same jokes. Nothing much had changed... Jibes at the two young, spikey-haired, lads-lads teachers; "hedgehog one and hedgehog two, aka, Jack and Jones"... And, about getting suspiciously overdressed when heading out to the library...

The choir sang all the cheesy goodbye songs... The "talented" kids had their bitta the spotlight. The token (slightly rockerish) band played a set... No one paid attention as the trad soc played incredibly well... Two blatantly popular fellas butchered Galway Girl to riotous applause...

As 18-year-old me collected her little certificate and class bracelet thingie (clearly nervous, and just a little awkward in herself - I wished she knew how gorgeous she looked) Dad snapped away, commenting on how much easier it was to get a good shot this time, being so much closer.

And then there were refreshments - tea, coffee, and the exact same finger food. It was even laid out the same. I snubbed the sambos and made a beeline to where I felt the springrolls would be. There they were.

Whatever triumphant confidence I thought I'd feel...didn't happen. With my now blonde hair, and my glasses (which I wouldn't have been seen DEAD in back then), not ONE of my teachers recognised me in all the faces.

The students didn't know me. The teachers didn't know me. The parents didn't know me. The feeling was all too terribly familiar. I felt as invisible and lost and jittery as I had on my first day at school. Being in that place set a lot of old nerves singing...

I - eventually - got up the courage to approach my maths teacher. Gesturing to myself; "Aoife Ryan" sparked an excited recognition. He was delighted to see me! Full of questions and praise and, well, everything I'd expected! We had a great chat. And I spoke to one or two more teachers after that (each time having to introduce myself).

Though it kinda seemed so at first, I haven't been forgotten... I've just changed a lot. So much that I'm unrecognisable.

Which is exactly what I wanted.

I guess.

Morning...!

... has broken! Well, a good few hours ago at this stage. My first in a while... Didn't sleep. I'll get round to it later on!

There was a horrible racket outside and I thought it must be the binmen or something... went to investigate (in full crazy-lady getup: pink bathrobe, ski socks, squinty eyes, cigarette, morning hair...)

Peering out the window, it turned out it was neighbours of mine! (who I couldn't pick out in a line-up, if I'm honest..) Anyway they'd loaded all their belongings into a "Rent-a-Skip" and then some scruffy driver/mover/crane-operating guy crane-lifted it onto the back of his truck... and off they noisily went. (Good thing I WASN'T asleep, actually..)

The only times I seem to see the really early morning (5.30am-7.30am) is when I stay up for it.. (eg. had to get an early flight once.. only chance I had of waking up on time was not going to sleep!)
Sometimes, yeah, it happens that an early rise is forced on me (for one usually-stupid reason or another)... but I didn't sleep because I wanted to see it today! :D

I'll sleep in the afternoon - I can afford that. I've seen PLENTY of afternoons. I'm sick of afternoons. It's such a dull time to wake up. Everyone's awake already and gone off doing things, and you feel so left behind that it's easier to decide; fuck it, I'll never catch them... Afternoon's the least remarkable, most reliable time of day.

Whenever I have to remember to do something, I'll set my phone reminder for 3pm. Always. It's a good reliable time - it's rare you'll find people sleeping at 3pm. FAR too early to go to bed and, unless it's a particularly evil hangover day, far too late to be still asleep. So... it's usually a good time to remind myself of whatever needs doing.

Anyway. Yeah. Watching Morning Ireland. They're all a buncha head-wreckers! I know morning shows are obliged to be perky and chirpy and so on.. but they're about as sincere with each other as they are interesting... It's like a horribly forced atmosphere - like a dinner party everyone's been guilted into going to. And the mini-fashion show's a bit... Gak.

Although, I LOVE the sweet old won they had on making omlettes.

I've had breakfast (a stale pita bread, tea, and a cigarette) but think I'll go out for something...well.. something that resembles food a little more closely...

Maybe a breakfast roll! Or a Mc-WhatevertheFucktheySellintheMornings! Just for the novelty...

Yeah. I've decided I like this. Morning's are nice and interesting and longer days = more time to play around with. Nights are my thing, true.. and always have been.. but time to shake off my body-clock rut and see what I'm missing.

A little surprise.

I found this written on the back cover of a tattered, yellowed copybook at work:

For Good Human Relationships
Speak to people
Be sincerely cordial
Smile at people
Call people by name
Be friendly and helpful
Be genuinely interested in people
Consider the feelings of others
Be alert to render service
Respect the opinions of others
Praise generously;
Criticise cautiously.

You can come across the oddest things in my bar… It was so strange. Just a normal copybook. God knows what made them print this on the back – in big bold print, with no clear reason for it, except… well, why not? Maybe that particular printing company had a notion they’d change the world… One copybook at a time! ^_^

It certainly gave me something to think about that night at work

Nothing stressed me out today.

I hate this. I'm bored - something that doesn't happen a lot. Le tamall anuas, whenever I've had nothing to do, I've collapsed in a heap and slept - tired from all the stuff I was doing!

I shouldn't have taken the day off. Precious few left. After Friday, no more Work Experience. And no luck on the job front just yet. What will I do?

I have no new "news". I tried on a dress I didn't like... Thought about the logo I'm working on... Sketched on some scrap paper... Got a Quiznos... It was fun, like, but...

Nothing stressed me out today. Nothing. Today was just... a day...

.. Wasted?

Dublin at 6am is lovely.

Especially today. It's bitterly cold (or, "brisk", if you prefer), but bright, and promises to be warm when the sun gets a little higher... and cold tonight, maybe... Ideal.

An old friend told me I'd make a good weather girl. I scoffed; hopefully my Journalism degree will get me further than THAT. He meant it in a nice way, though...
God, I hope he's doing ok.
'Though I can safely assume he's not.
But... it's not my business anymore.
And that's ok.

It's funny how much easier it is to get out of bed when you wake up happy.

Back to my roots.

I was at a metal gig in Limerick last night.
Hero in Error - Dublin band.
They're alright! But it was just... so... much... fun. So energizing. I miss that shit.

There's nothing better than a metal gig. Nothing. The first PROPER, big, open-air concert I was ever at was Metallica at the RDS in '04. And I will never forget it as long as I live.

I remember that ticket was the first Valentine's present I had ever gotten. And I still think it was the best. It was a hell of a risk on his part, if ya think about it – we’d only been together about 2 weeks! And the gig was in June!

I got him a joke-gift. Y'know… We hadn't been together very long, and I thought it'd be cool.
It...erm...wasn't... especially when he proudly presented me with my very thoughtful, expensive gift, and heartfelt card.

***

We got to Dublin. Way, way too early. And it was way, way too sunny. We stopped by Asha in Steven’s Green – I bought a cool “…And Justice” necklace and a horrible top. I got it because it wasn’t too bulky, and had Metallica written on it, but just tied it ‘round my waist for the day. Horrible. Wore the necklace, though. Still do the odd time, even though it’s broken.

So, into the queue. My head was burning. I suspected I was getting a migraine - nooooo! I'd soldier through it. Standing in the sun, mostly in black (blergh. too warm!), glaring at the awkward twits in support-band Tees. (the sheer cheek!)

I was nervous. I thought about the big crowd and the crush and getting shoved around. Everyone was a lot bigger, and badder-looking than me. Except for a few scrawny Slipknot fans (with their trade-mark bad tattoos).

We got into the RDS and headed for the main arena. Lost Prophets were first. I grabbed C’s hand and practically dragged him through crowds of mean-looking biker-types… their piercings and sweaty foreheads glistening in the sun. I thought, if I wanted to be at the front, this was my best chance. Lost Prophets fans were bound to be the easiest to push through. And I made it! About half-way through their set, I was within reaching-distance of the barrier.

What was I wearing… Red boots (very uncomfortable – but flat at least), probably teamed’m with a skirt, which I can safely assume was black (but I don’t remember…), and a red sleeveless Punky Fish top which, at the time, I thought was the COOLEST thing EVER. (Uncomfortably tight, it had a zip all the way up the front, and back. So, in theory, you could rip it in two. Unnecessary, and clearly asking for trouble, but no one ever went there! It used to catch on my belly-button piercing... Ick. I couldn’t wear it these days – it being disgracefully tacky and all…)

So, the poor Profs got booed off the stage. The biggest cheer they got was for mentioning the word “Metallica”. A hail of bottles and abuse. A friend of C’s chucked something that hit one of them in the head. Really feel bad about that. I didn’t join in. They’re not a bad band. The crowd just wanted to emphasise that they didn’t belong there. It wasn’t cool. But… I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t hilarious.

“Thanks for your fucking support.” And they sauntered huffily off stage.
Some skinhead guy in front of us shouted; “Don’t listen to them guys! I still love you! Woooo!”

Well… that’s nice!

***

So, my head’s getting quite sore… this is gonna be one of the BADder migraines… but all I had to do was get through Slipknot. And at least we were at the front!
“Aoife, I’m getting a little claustrophobic… can we go back?”
Are you kidding me?!? But, dutifully, I took his hand and barged my way back out. It was nice to have a little space. I guess.
My head was killing me.

***

So, I never really liked Slipknot. Bang bang bang music. Boiler-suits and stupid masks. Seemed a little too theatrical and…well… y’know… just didn’t understand their appeal. And don’t think calling your fans “maggots” is very nice.

They charged on stage. Crowd freaked out. I started to kinda get into it. Their music blasted the pain right out of my head. Maybe it was adrenaline, maybe it was the frequency of the bang bang bangs, maybe it was that I’d taken the top from around my waist and draped it over my head to keep the sun off… but I couldn’t feel a thing. Nice one! I started hoppin’ around, whippin’ my hair about, tried to encourage C to get into the mini-mosh pit that’d formed near-by, and, when he wouldn’t, bounced in myself. Wooooo!

(By the way, C’s coming across badly in this, but bear in mind he wasn’t feeling great. Food-poisoning from Subway the day before. He got a card for free subs for a year because of it! But never really took full advantage of it. Which pissed me off no end.)

Some guy fell on the ground. Oh my God he’s going to die.

“BACK OFF! FUCKING BACK OFF!” – some massive hairy giant parted the crowds, picked the guy up and grumbled; “You ok man?”
“Yeah.. thanks!”

Metal fans are so nice! Anywhere else and he’d’ve been trampled. It’s not violence for the sake of it – it’s a bit of rough ’n tumble, and all in the name of fun, and they look out for each other. I couldn’t believe it. I had nothing to worry about.

Suddenly some psycho a few feet away starts roaring: “Get the FUCK down! GET THE FUCK DOWN!”

?????

The music was dying down. I looked around and everyone – everyone – tens of thousands of black-clad fans were on their hunkers on the ground. C was too. I got the fuck down. Confused. Going with it.

And then, with thunderous drums, the music went ballistic and the whole RDS leapt to its feet and roared and trashed around and oh… my God…

I understood now. I’ve never bought a CD of theirs, but I’d LOVE to go to another gig. They are phenomenal live. They send the crowds into a frenzy. It’s an helluva rush! ^_^

***

Away from the main arena, sprawled on the grass, moaning.
“How can I help?”
“I dunno. Step on my head. No. Get me some chocolate or something.”
The minute the music stopped, the pain came back. I didn’t know if I could take much more. What fucking awful timing. My day is ruined.
He came back with the chocolate. It didn't help.
“They’ll be on any minute.”
I got up and shuffled miserably alongside him, and we headed back to the fray.

***

Just as we came through the passage-thing, Ecstasy of Gold started up. That’s Metallica’s entrance music, borrowed from an old western, promising something great.
The scene opened out in front of us, entrance music still soaring, and I got this tightness in my chest, and butterflies, and something else too. It was overwhelming. The crowd seemed to have doubled, tripled in size. I know people say this a lot, but you actually COULD feel the excitement and anticipation. It felt like I’d been waiting forever for this. We all had. Thousands and thousands of fans. And these heroes – these absolute legendary men – standing there. They were right there. Right in fucking front of us.

And they opened with the first song on my favourite album and I freaked - out. Blackened. One of the best intros to any song ever. Really got the gig going. Migraine didn’t even exist anymore.

When it was over, and we were sufficiently revved up (they were starting things on a high that was to continue…)
Hetfield:
“Gimme an M!”
“Gimme an E!”
“Gimme a T!”
“… GIMME FUEL GIMME FIRE GIMME THAT WHICH I DESIRE!” – Fuel!! Not the best song, and a pretty obvious way to introduce it, but still, UNREAL!!

And it went on and on and got better and better. And the sun was gone. And the stage was radiant. I called a friend (who nearly cried) and held my phone on high, to join the thousands of others, during Nothing Else Matters.

A pyramid of about 20 smelly men formed over to the right somewhere. I can’t remember what comment Hetfield made about that, but I remember it was hilarious.

Hammett was mesmerising.
Lars was…Lars!
And that large, hulking dude (who was the newbie then and, to me, still is) was actually pretty cool.

And they apologised for having forgotten to play Whiskey in the Jar the previous year. And proceeded to play the HELL out of it to make up for it.

And they closed with Seek and Destroy and we were left angry, breathless, and on a wild rush – I’ve never felt so high.

And when it all went quiet, and I came back down to earth……
“… Ow… oh fuck… ow…”
Remember me? Migraine’s back!
Ah, fuck it, it was worth it.
One of the best memories I’m lucky enough to have.

***

I love all different kinds of music. And all sorts of gigs are great. But... nothing compares to the pumping adrenaline ya get from good, old-fashioned metal... :)

On the Red train.

I missed the last bus home (by AGES).
I missed the last train home (9pm) by minutes.
I proceeded to panic.
Aaaargh!

BUT my panic was wasted. There were two additional, slightly-later services loading! “Rugby Special” trains. This one left at 9.20pm, exclusively for Thurles and Limerick. It’s full of good-humoured (if mildly disappointed) Munster Fans. (But at least there’s an Irish team in the final. *nods*)

I think I’m the only plain-clothes person on the train. People are looking at me like I’m foreign. No one even sat next to me. (Well, my pile of bags and "I’m-Asleep" act may have deterred them…) I’m a Munster girl, though! I swear!

Know that Supermac’s in Heuston station? Usually empty. Tonight? Thronged. Supermac's is very much our thing. :)
I regret now that I turned my nose up at the queue – there’s a guy a few feet away with a chicken burger and it…smells… so… good… What I’d give for a Curry Chip ’n Cheese and a CanaCoke now! Ah well. I bought posh train-juice and an extortionate Freshways sandwich. I got funny looks for asking for Egg and Bacon, and, when they didn’t have that, Ham Salad. Fuck off. I like pig meat, and you’re an idiot.

I also heard a kid shout “Piggy!” when someone sneezed earlier. The swine flu thing’s getting tiresome. But ya can’t BUT laugh at the online buzz... Like Swineflu - The Game. ^_^

Anyway. Heuston station was dearg le daoine. Packed with Red jerseys with sloppy pints bein' waved around. But no-one annoying. No prominent assholes.

I’d much rather be on a Munster train home than a Leinster one.

I can never get my head around the chasm of a difference between Munster and Leinster Rugby. In Limerick, everyone likes Rugby. You just do. You don’t even need to LIKE Rugby to like Rugby. You don’t need to watch the match, even. (‘Though, it’s better craic if you do!) What’s not to like? Families, friends, strangers in the pub, schools, parishes, whatever; we all get behind the team. It’s always a mad and messy night out, and always good craic, and just a good buzz all ‘round.

And when they’ve got the big, BIG screen on O’Connel St… wow… It really is spectacular. The whole city just stops: everything revolves around this colossal projection and everyone’s laughing and cheering and jeering and biting their nails… It doesn’t matter what area you’re from, or who you are – you’re in Limerick and you’re in Red and everyone’s in it together. Whose idea was that big screen anyway?! It’s GREAT! At least once, everyone should experience being squashed into a crowd, watching a match, standing in the street… (sneakily sipping yer Cider can, and NOT climbing the lamp posts, please.)

Rugby’s a funny kind of relief for Limerick. It’s the one time where everyone’s on the same side. The snobby areas chill out, the dodginess dies down… The bad press gets Red-washed over for a while.

Then in Dublin it’s a cliquey statusy thing? I’ll never understand it.





(written on train, no Internet, forgot to post ‘till now, after getting home and watching half of Tropic Thunder.)

And also...

I was just reading one of my posts from only a few months ago - and I barely recognise myself. The way I wrote it... my attitude...

I'm just tired.
All this in the last few months really IS wearing me out. I miss having time for my friends, for my family, for me... just time.

Summer soon. So soon.

I don't even think I'm up for getting the bus now after all. The post-work buzz had me all... well... buzz-y... but now I just feel drained. 's what's expected when ya don't sleep, I guess.
Think I'll just lie down. -_-