Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Say Yes.

I'm in love with the world through the eyes of a girl
Who's still around the morning after
We broke up a month ago, and I grew up - I didn't know
I'd be around the morning after

It's always been wait and see
A happy day and then you pay
and feel like shit the morning after
But now I feel changed around and instead of falling down
I'm standing up the morning after
Situations get fucked up and turned around sooner or later
I could be another fool or an exception to the rule
You tell me the morning after

Crooked spin can't come to rest
I'm damaged bad at best
She'll decide what she wants
I'll probably be the last to know
No-one says until it shows and you see how it is
They want you or they don't
Say yes

I'm in love with the world through the eyes of a girl
Who's still around the morning after
Elliott Smith.

No Complaints.

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

I thought this was sort of fitting for the Leaving Cert. conundrum. And maybe people’s lives in general. A certain type of people. Me, for example.

I just had an amazing cup of tea, a chicken sandwich and a package of Tayto. This justifies the crapness of my day, I think. But I’m not complaining, really I’m not. Could be worse. (:

I feel good. I just felt like chronicling this moment. Because these kinds of moments are pretty rare midweek.

Which reminds me: I wonder what the Midweek Movie is on Bog One tonight? Don’t think I’ll be able to keep my eyes open for it. So it’ll probably be a good one. When I’m wide awake and enthusiastic about it, it’s always something crap like James Bond or something. Eww.

Lots of homework tonight. As is tradition every night. Poetry question though. I do adore Eliot. He is the new man in my life, I think. Midweek anyway. Until Saturday. (:

I’m in a very sentimental mood. I miss my best friend. When did we last even talk properly? School is seriously getting in the way of the minimum amount of time I should be spending with Aisling. Ughh. Actually, it’s pretty impossible to have a proper conversation with anyone in school these days. There’s always so much going on and my head is wrapped up in all I have to do. Hmm. It is very strange. It will right itself, won’t it? This peculiar situation.

Ooh, I almost forgot: I’m on the Debs Committee! Thrilled. Excited. Trés flattered. (;

Changed my mind: not in a homework mood. In a bed kind of mood. I miss having energy. Bleh.

Need more tea. Think I might grant myself an hour to drink tea and read Charlotte’s Web. Is this greedy?

Hmm. I don’t care. Life is too short. I’m leaving on a jetplane. Bleh. Bleh bleh.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

The Future etc.

The Career Exhibition in Limerick today was a bit of a realisation thing. Probably a sign that I shouldn’t be doing Pharmacy. Since there’s no easy way for me to do it. And I know that doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s the end of the road vis-á-vis Pharmacy but, I don’t know, my mind’s gone wandering and I’m in the throes of examining other options. Which isn’t normally like me. It’s either all or nothing when it comes to this kind of thing. Or else tears. And I very nearly did cry earlier when I realised that there is no way I’ll get into Trinners next year. Ya know when ya can feel yer face heating up etc? I had that.
But I’m okay now. And the more I think about it, the more I’m beginning to wonder if it’s some sort of divine intervention, the whole thing. By rights, I should be doing English or Journalism. I’ve wanted to be a writer since Day Dot. At least since Third Class in school. I was nine. Meaning that I’ve wanted to be a writer for a full half of my life. Would it not be crude to abandon that now? Ever feel like you’re meant to do something? I don’t know how I feel about the idea of destiny but I do think that Emma Norris is supposed to write, famously or otherwise. I don’t know. I don’t want to seem pompous. But I’m just, you know, all a dither and confused.
Pharmacy @ Trinity: 550 points and a HC3 in Chemistry, plus another in either Physics, Biology or Maths. If I worked extremely hard for the next eight months, there is a small chance I could get enough points to land me in Trinners. But no amount of praying or rolling die or some other voodoo nonsense will change the fact that I am wonderfully apt at pass Maths, and that honours would be the death of me. And why did I not pick Biology way back at the end of TY? History instead and it is the bane of my life. It is far too late in the game to start Blodge and live to tell the tale come August. I just don’t have it in me. So no Trinity.
English Lit & Film Studies/ German @ Trinity: Feasible. But a lot of points. And I do like the idea of reading books for four years and talking about the books for four years, and I also like the idea of being fluent in German (really I do. You have no idea.). I don’t know. I know I could do a Masters in Journalism after but it just seems like so much hard work. I don’t know if it would genuinely suit me or if I only want it to suit me. I know every course is going to be hard work because it is college, after all. But I don’t want to get myself in too deep. I really don’t know.
Journalism @ DCU: In love, much? For some bizarre reason, I think I am. I could see myself as a journalist. I went through my, like, three or four year long phase of wanting to write for the paper and it was going to be amazing and all the rest and I did all my research about working in editing and publishing and I did my work experience and the whole thing was going to be fantastic. And then the longing just went off me. I convinced myself that I wasn’t a people person. But if I think I have to be, I am. It’s about necessity, isn’t it? I could be a journalist, couldn’t I? I don’t want it to be a throwaway course though. And I know it’s such a competitive career. And that’s not me at all. But I don’t know. It’s writing. And I love writing. And I don’t want to have a monopoly on the print media, I just want to write. Hmm.
Opinions, please.
Oh, also, regards UCAS, I am thinking Pharmacy in the University of Central Lancashire and in the Robert Gordon University in Aberdeen. But I don’t know. No harm in applying anyway. Think I’ll get Ms Jones to write my reference. Which reminds me, must get ‘round to doing that German reading comprehension before the night is out. German reading comprehensions really are the bane of my life.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

In other news, I glanced at my foot earlier and a memory flashed into my head of that time during the summer when me and Derval were in Aldi (as happens during these recessionary times) and I picked up those four pack 1.5 L bottles of water and the handle broke and the whole thing smashed my foot into smithereens when it hit it with its dead weight. Oh, the pain. Very swollen The bruise was amazing. Is it weird that I like bruises? I like the colours…
Also, I got purple fishnet tights and silver hairbands in Penneys today. Good buys but I hate being poverty-stricken. Need to fix this horrible inflection of my life.
Saturday should be good. Cheap booze from Aldi (should the mother not let me down) and sesiúin ar siúil i dteach Drohan. Táim ag súil go mór leis. (:
I have an incredibly spotty forehead of late. Someone please tell me why these things happen to my already less-than-aesthetically-pleasing face. Also, I need a haircut. In a bad way. My hair is crap. Flat as a pancake. And dull as a doorknob. Need a change, bah.
Hmm. What else? I don’t know. What a crap blog post. And I expect to be a journalist? I should be ashamed of myself. But seriously. Honest humble opinions on that, please? Email if ya want: Best girl.
More later, perhaps. Now: German homework. More than likely bed after that. I don’t know about you but I am exhausted.
However, life is good and I like the idea that this time next year, it will have once again done a complete three-sixty and it’s all so exciting. I adore it. Woot. So long.

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Hide it in a hiding place where no one ever goes.

Where have you gone, Joe DiMaggio?
A nation turns its lonely eyes to you.
What's that you say, Mrs. Robinson?
“Joltin' Joe has left and gone away!”

Windows Live Writer is good for blogging. Gives you extra formatting options and that and is a lot more appealing to the eye than the posting page on the Blogger website. (Which I am using now, for some bizareee reason.) So yeah. Download here. It pretty much has the Emma Norris seal of approval now, if that means anything to you. And I did think it was a bit redundant at first but, take my word for it, it really is a Godsend, especially if you're liable to get distracted by other people's blog posts and are terrified they'll influence your next'n and the whole point of the thing will be lost... Well, if you're at all like me, that's a factor. I like my thoughts and blogs unprocessed and uninfluenced by other people's thoughts. Maybe I'm fooling myself? Oh well. Download anyway. Rant over. (:

Also, I hear through the grapevine there's a Blogger plugin that posts a Tweet to your Twitter telling your followers when you've been atyping. I've downloaded it but am unsure how it actually operates. If you have any clue at all what I'm talking about, please offer up an explanation because the whole idea of plugins is pretty much lost on me.

I'm going to be less personal in this for a while. I need a break. This whole expressing myself thing is exhausting. However, I will say that I love Aidan Connolly and that is a FACT.

This is a beautiful cover of Mrs Robinson, that choon of a choon by Simon & Garfunkel. And Pomplamoose are pretty great, in fairness. Look them up on YouTube. 'Beat the Horse' is some song, I will tell you that much for nothing. This shall do ya in the meantime. And do listen to it. It will make your day. :)

Off I go to consume carbohydrates and complete homework and be at one with beddy bye byes. And maybe say a prayer. Farewell.


Saturday, September 26, 2009

This Cloud.

I sort of wish no one ever read this. No one I know, I mean. Just people in faraway lands who would read and empathise and fix my life. But when I put links on Bebo and Facebook, what do I expect? I’m only friends with people I’m actually friends with on those sites so I don’t know who I expect to mysterious stumble across my blog on Google. Or else be possessed by some spirit who takes over their fingers and compels them to type the address in their browser. I don’t know. But whoever they are, I hope they fix my life.

How do I get myself into these situations? I must be very malleable. I must be. And, also, very stubborn. And oblivious. And everything else in the world that I really don’t want to be right now.

I want conversation. I’d give anything for a real life conversation right now. Anything to ward off and stall the descent of this proverbial cloud. Because it shouldn’t be here. Not this soon. It is crippling and I’m only just back on my feet. And I’m not even back on my feet yet. I’m lying when I say I am. I’m lying when I say I’m okay. I can’t be if I’m prone to writing like this every second day. Ughh, I’m too erratic. Fix me, someone.
Take me back to Dublin.

Wish #2: Take me back to Dublin and wrap me up in a big duvet in a big bed and make me a cup of tea and get in the bed with me and gimme a cuddle and watch a film with me and talk to me and let me have a little bit of a cry. Please.

I can’t deal with these weird fights. I don’t know how to be.

I have nothing to fill my night with. I will blog too much and regret it. Or else I will sit here twiddling my thumbs. Give me something viable to do, someone. Or someone to do. Ughh.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Upping the Ante.

I have equipped myself with a cup of tea, complete with three and a half sugars, and I have consumed two Snack biscuits. I think this makes me dangerous, especially since one should never mix tea and chocolate as the combination confuses the taste buds, resulting in an unhappy Emma. But I am daring. Or indifferent. One of the two, anyway.

I am utterly compelled to blog this evening because homework is futile, the mood I’m in. It will get done, don’t fret, but not right now. Because I need to get certain things off my chest first, in ambiguous and sweeping terms of hatred and disgust and other negative nouns.

I am debating in my mind whether to address the Real Issues here? Certain things can be mentioned, of course, as just because I haven’t said them to your face doesn’t mean they don’t bother me, it’s just that I don’t want to make a huge deal out of ‘em. And it’s not as though I wouldn’t say ‘em to your face anyway. I would. But life is short and I’d rather not cause an argument where there need not be an argument.

Which is why I’m not going to bother mentioning the cake thing again. It’s just not worth it. It bothers me, of course it does: it makes me feel as though I’m unimportant, or at least less important than people with funds and wheels. Yet no personality. Harsh? I’ll not apologise: I’ve been mortally offended. But it’s only a cake and I had an amazing birthday all the same, presents or no presents. So I’ll get over it.

But the mood I’m in now will aggravate every other miniature disaster in my life until such time as the mood exhausts itself and evaporates. Then I’ll be fine and laughing or cringing at this outburst.

I feel like I need to cry but it’s not exactly my thing anymore. Maybe blogging is more productive on some level. At least more creative. And possibly a little more entertaining. I hope someone somewhere is laughing at the huge furore that I make out of my rather mundane life. That would make me happy.

Those text messages are the bane of my life. Really. Please don’t bother punctuating that brief message of thanks. You know how thrilled I would be if you did, so, whatever you do, don’t do that.

Ever feel like you’re sort of destined to end up with a certain person, but not in a good way? Maybe it’s just this loneliness and inertia I’ve been feeling lately, but I am thinking in dreary terms and half hoping and half hoping against. But you never know. And I still have my whole life ahead of me. Ughh.

I want to forget about everything right now and I feel like the only way I can do that is by draining myself of every thought in my head and dumping it into the cess pool that is The Magic Position. I wish I could erase certain memories. Not the events, because they were probably good at the time, but the memories of the events – I don’t want them anymore. I can no longer deal with that sickly feeling in my stomach, that pang of loss and the distinct fear and feeling that maybe you never really loved me at all.

And I know I keep going on about that whole epoch of my life (in ambiguous and sweeping terms of hatred and disgust and other negative nouns, or sometimes somewhat nostalgic ones), but if it’s in my head at all, this is more than likely where it’s going to end up. And I’m sorry if that offends anyone. Actually, no I’m not. Because I’m entitled to think these thoughts. They don’t really amount to much, do they? They’re just the product of my pondering and of me slowly (and still) coming to terms with the change in direction my life has taken.

It’s strange to think that all the plans I had for my life have changed again, based on what someone else thought of me and expected of me. I was going to be a certain way and live my life a certain way just so I would match the idea you had of me in your head. Or maybe the idea I had of myself in your head. But it’s not really me, is it? This is me, this rambling nonsense. I still want that other future, to a certain extent, but less so. I’ve changed and my view of the world has changed. I pretty much think I’m capable of anything and everything now. I just wish the bad stuff didn’t come into that equation though.

Bad Stuff are the silly mistakes and ill-thought-out decisions I make on a daily basis. I resent being advised to be ‘sensible’, but maybe there’s something to be gained in making decisions based on morals and integrity and that? Who knows. Maybe I’ll never know. Maybe that’s not the end of the world, me being as spontaneous and stubborn as I am. I at least get things done most days. And I’m happy. Which is pretty important. It’s all well and good making all the right choices and doing as your conscience says you should, but where is the adventure in that? Surely that nervous feeling in the pit of your stomach and the clammy hands and the delirious grin are some of the things that let you know you’re alive? Sometimes life is just so tedious. I like experiencing something else entirely.

If that means me fucking off to Dublin on the bus for the weekend or telling you why I was so hurt about those few days of dating confusion, then that will do nicely. I know I’m alive, even if the latter is a pretty crap kind of alive to be.

I am trying so hard to be perfect, still. Why, I don’t know. I’m never going to achieve it. I’m only ever going to amount to the sum of my parts. Probably. Very little else. What are we only what we are influenced by, and the decisions we make, and the company we keep, and the way we present ourselves to the world? I’m nothing amazing. You know that, I know that. Why then am I acting as though I am? Ughh.

Excuse this blog post, please. Blame hormones or something. Blame this silly frame of mind I’m in. Excuse these fragmented ideas. And this somewhat pessimistic mood. (This is me being pessimistic, by the way.) Blame the whole thing on lack of communication between me and the rest of the world, between me and the people who matter.

Eternally and internally frustrated. There will be further blogging later. I can almost guarantee it.

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

To Blog or Not to Blog?

Is always the question. It is with me anyway. And the answer is usually ‘yes’. But this time, I earned the luxury. I spent all evening doing my homework (just like yesterday, but with fewer interruptions) and this is my way of unwinding. I could read Cujo and frighten myself silly or I could watch repeats of QI, but I’m happy enough to write for the time being and update the masses on the glorified mess that is my life.

This UCAS thing is a bit worrying. But I’ve sort of had a change of heart and I’m pretty much glued to the notion of going to Dublin. And if I don’t get the 5,375,790,809 points necessary for Pharmacy in Trinners, I’ll settle for English & German and off I go to travel and write and read and it will be amazing. An adventure. I will still apply to UCLan, ‘cause I’m basically in love with the place, but I’m giving myself some leeway, ya know? Yeah.

I pretty much love everything at the moment. Even all the crap stuff. Even those conversations that you don’t want to have but you need to have. I’m glad it’s over and done with. I really needed to get that stuff off my chest and now I have and it’s further closure and so long and all the rest.

You have no idea how excitable I am now purely because I did all my homework. I think I am the definition of a lazy bitch – moved to near delirium when I actually do accomplish something. It is that much of a rarity. Oh well.

What is our PE teacher’s name? He is a complete fool if he tracks me down (and the ten or so others who also opted out of PE today) to get a page of drivel about the point of basketball. There is no point to basketball. A mere way to kill time for those with more vertical inches than brain cells. Harsh? Don’t like basketball. Actually, just don’t like PE.

Do, however, adore English class lately. Why, I don’t know. I think the glory of the whole thing has become apparent to me all over again. I love it. Here’s hoping this new-found love of the language will affect this blog and I’ll write less like a jabbering fool and more like someone who’s supposed to be fluent in the English tongue? Don’t hold your breath.

I’d love to be able to construct a poem but I don’t think I’m minimal enough. Isn’t poetry supposed to say a lot in a few words? I can’t do that. There’s barely meaning to this lengthy prose, never mind attempting to place significance on a five word sentence. Not my thing. Personally, I prefer to just go on and on and on.
Oh, I’d love to be more personal in this. I’d love to tell you everything. But, let’s face it, you know enough about my life as it is to at least regard me as a little bit addled in the brain, never mind me spilling the beans entirely and ending up getting myself committed. Or hated. You never know.

I had a lovely weekend. A lovely bus journey to Dublin. And a lovely nap on the way there and back. I was scared (and insensible) but in the best way possible. I love this.

I wore my new hat.
That’s pretty much all for the minute. It’s ten to eleven. I’m pooped. And leaving on a jetplane. Let's converse sometime? Set the ball rolling by commenting the blog. Surely you have an opinion on something I’ve vaguely mentioned in this vague blog post? Of course you do. Best girl. x

Friday, September 18, 2009

What Now?

It seems like all the excitement has been achieved for the time being. Which is a bit daunting and a bit upsetting and a bit lonely. What now? The Debs is done, school has resumed and there is nothing new about it anymore, my birthday is done and dusted. I’m officially an adult now but there’s nothing terribly wonderful about it just yet. AC has gone off to Trinners (though there is the Fresher's Ball to look forward to now!) and all the other wise people in my life have settled into their old lives or their new lives or have moved on entirely.
Regards that last one, I feel a bit strange. I shouldn’t care. But I sort of do. It’s not jealousy and it’s not that I miss you. I don’t know. It’s just strange is all. But I’m not mad anymore. I don’t think I am anyway. Today, I was angry. Because it feels like you don’t even care about my opinion. But it feels like you should to a certain extent. Was I always this irrelevant and I just hadn’t noticed?
It’s okay though because my life is good. My life is pretty much amazing lately and this right here is just a lull. And lulls happen. But I appreciate everything about my life at the moment. Even this feeling of resentment because at least I know I’m human. It proves I still care, even if I have no reason to. Hmm.
This lack of events is probably a good thing right now. I should probably study. I should ignore Bebo completely because it generally means bad news, especially at times like this. I’ve deleted one or two people from Msn: I don’t want to know what’s going on in certain people’s lives these days. I care, but I’d rather not know. I’m so much better off oblivious. I’m tired of getting that wrenching sickly feeling in my stomach whenever I discover some other piece of unnecessary information about people’s new private lives. It’s none of my business anymore and it should stay like that.
There are a lot of things I’d like to say to certain people, however. Maybe I need more closure? Or maybe I’m better off continuing on with my life as statically as I have been. You won’t even cross my mind in a month or two. I just need to ride this little wave until I’ve settled into my new niche and then nothing you do will ever bother me again. I can’t wait.
* * *
One day I will write a poem and it will be amazing. Sort of. It will at least be different from all of this self-deprecating, miserable nonsense. I hope. But, more than likely, it will just be self-deprecating, miserable nonsense verse. But such is life. This is my life and it’s a whole lot more interesting these days. Even if only in my head.
* * *
On a vaguely related, yet completely unrelated, topic, I’m swooning. Ya know when there aren’t the words? I have that. Speechless. And it’s not often that that happens. Clearly.
I love you.
* * *
Tonight is one of those Friday nights: I plan on consuming copious amounts of food and tea and telly and Cujo and going to sleep. It will be momentous.
Am considering deleting my Bebo. Opinions? It’s really not so great. In fact, it’s the bane of my life. Facebook is bearable at the moment. But this too will lose its sheeny shiny finish and I’ll be back to complaining about knowing everyone’s business and them knowing mine. But I’ll still sign in and declare myself to the social networking community. Ughh.
Life is good, right, but I feel weird. Too much blogging.
‘Blogging’ is such a filthy word.
A lonely blue dot.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Terrible Tuesday.

My eyes are stinging. The cold hasn't departed yet.

I'm not entirely sure how to act or react now. I mean, I've come to terms with it (what can I say? I move fast), but I don't know how to be. School will be rough. But, finally, my life is my life. And that feels good.

I sort of want revenge. I sort of hope that all of this ends up thrown back in your face. Then maybe you'll realise how you made me feel so many fucking times.

Anyway, onwards and upwards and that.

I still want company. I feel lonely. Hmm.

Wish #1: I would like a packet of Minstrels and a duvet and some pleasant company and a nice chat, please. Seriously. I'd do anything right now for that. Simple pleasures, etc.

School tomorrow. The very thoughts of it. Just everything. Hmm. Suck it up, Emma. Be br00tal, etc.

This was just a filler. Clearly.

I think I'm going to do that whole No Internet, No Telly for a Week thing. That was a good week. Need more inspiration. Need more privacy. These blogs are getting way too personal. Feedback, please though? Comment the blog or email me, you nutters. Stop me in my tracks if this is all too much for you.

Also, while I'm on the subject of feedback and that, I really do appreciate people's opinions on this blog. It stuns me that normal people actually enjoy reading what I'm babbling on about on a given day. So thanks very much. If you've ever said anything nice to me about this blog, you've basically made my day. For serial. :)

Lemsip Induced Gibberish.

Sporadic sentences FTW.

I like exclamation marks, but only in moderation.
I like South Park.
I like life and I really like the way Sixth Year is going.

I'm actually able to talk to people this year. Which is bizarre. And cutting it fine. My very last year in school and I decide to start making conversation. It's nonsense mostly and they think I'm a bit quirky, but I'd rather that than have them think I was a miserable bitch. I was a miserable bitch up to now, I think. It was only at the tail end of Fifth Year that things started properly looking up for me and I'm only really used to it by now. Even if I do keep forgetting to take my tablets.

I love this year: I love my friends. I love having Katie and Hazel and Hannah and Bert around. Basically makes my days lately.

I hate being sick. I look rough. This is depressing. Snotty tissues and red eyes and a red nose. Eww. Really makes you appreciate health and stuff though. Can't wait to have energy again and be clean and shiny and that. And be able to concentrate on stuff. Like school. I really am going to give academia a decent shot from now on. I have no excuse anymore.

No more blogs about things that don't matter. (: What a relief!

Clare sa Spéir happens to be one of the most depressing short films to ever grace the small screen and the most depressing in the Irish language. King Lear is a fool of a man. And what the fuck was with the economic and social policies of Fianna Fáil back in the day?

I swear too much. No more swearing. Good girl. Best girl.

I know it's two in the morning and that, but I'd love a bit of company right now. Idle banter. Chit chat. Tea. Cuddles. A nice film. A real deep and meaningful moment, y'know? That, please. I want that.

Effing adore South Park.

Monday, September 14, 2009

Life of Pi.

I should read this book again.

Life is Good.

'This is the last time I'm gonna watch him fucking hurt you.' From the most quotable person I know. JG.

I've had my rant and it's all okay now. Basically, this is the closure I need. Even if it's not real. Even if you're only trying to get back at me. This is me closing the book on all of that. I don't need to deal with you anymore. I don't need to worry about your feelings or your thoughts or your drunken tendencies. You're on your own now. Whether you like it or not, whether you chose this route or not, off you fuck.

All of a sudden, I'm really fucking happy. My life is so good lately. Is it a coincidence that you're no longer in it? I finally get to move the fuck on and away from you.

Too much swearing lately but I think it's necessary. Really, I do.

Life is good. Basically.

Hating You.

You're basically trying to make me hate you, aren't you? Well, success. God, why are you so horrible? Do you actually get a kick out of being such a bitch? I'm bending over backwards trying to be diplomatic and polite and considerate and everything else when I really shouldn't bother at all. You clearly don't care about my feelings so why the fuck should I care about yours anymore? This is so pointless.

You only care about yourself. I'm finding it increasingly difficult to see how you ever cared about me. I never ever wanted to say that the whole thing was a waste but I don't know anymore. It wasn't supposed to end up like this. Well, maybe it was. You were always going to be the villain. Well, off you fuck because I'm not interested in defending your honour anymore or justifying your caddish behaviour. To myself. Because no one else believes that there's any excuse for the way you are anyway. They're right.

God, I'm so fucking angry. I'm not even sure why. Maybe because I expected more of you? For some bizarre fucking reason, I thought you'd offer me the same consideration I did you. But, Christ, that was expecting too much.

I'm not even going to get started on her...

Basically, I'm always right. I don't know why you doubt me. You know full well that I am always right. But that is little consolation.



Louis Vuitton mink bell hat: $1,190. I kid you not. I wouldn't mind but it's not even that nice. It's grand, like, but you could get pretty much the same thing in River Island. Probably even Penneys. Can't find a picture of said hat but this is probably for the best. I will, however, link you. If you're at all interested: (It's not a very specific link, since Adobe flashplayer is a little bitch, but if you are that interested, look a bit harder.)

My feet are sore. My head is sore.

I need some serious motivation. I need a bit of pep in my step. This Sixth Year thing is bothering me already and it seems like everyone else has it under control when I can barely (and not always) manage to get my homework done in the evenings. I need a plan. I need strict instructions and no leeway at all. But first I need to get rid of this awful cold.

Didn't get to sleep 'til well after three in the morning, snotty-nosed and miserable. Ended up sending stupid texts to just about everyone in my phone, sitting up in my bed in the dark, miserable. God, I hate being sick. My mother thinks I am pretending. I realise that it has been known to happen in the past but, this time, I genuinely am ill as an ill thing. I have an appointment to see Dr Richard at quarter past four. I haven't seen him in so long. I actually miss him.

Not really able for today, to be honest. It's the mood I'm in, it's the Swine Flu. I'm just not able. I'd like to go to sleep for a few weeks, maybe wake up again at Christmas when I can spend gratuitous amounts of time in Mooncoin and not study for the Pres. I think that could be quite amazing all 'round.

I actually have nothing to write about. Well, I have plenty to write about but I'm in such an abysmal mood, I'd just end up sounding like the Grinch who stole, I dunno, year-round joy. Such is what the Swine Flu will do to you.

I'm dying. Probably.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Sunday Thoughts.

Sunday evening. Beautiful evening. My curtains are drawn. I'm fed and watered and clean and baby-oiled up. My bed is fresh and my room is sort of tidy. I have homework, but it can wait. Having eaten the last of my four-day old birthday cake, I'm thinking I'd quite like to climb into bed and watch Garden State on the laptop.

Good haul this year. Not just presents-wise, but life-wise. I'm wise. Well, wiser than I was. The seventeen-to-eighteen stretch was a long and eventful one. A trying year. Clearly, I'm still alive and kicking and maybe a little bit more addled. But certainly alive. And there's a lot to be said for still being able to laugh after all of this. Laugh more than I've ever laughed. Finally finding my niche. Not quite there yet. But getting there. Which is the story of my life: getting there.

Somehow, without ever meaning to, I end up making the best of those terrible situations and coming out the far end of 'em with a lot more confidence and a lot more friends. I want to be specific but I probably shouldn't. You know who you are anywez.

I hope this next year will be just as amazing. But it will, of course it will. It's all new and an adventure and I am surrounded on all sides by the most amazing people in the world. That's pretty amazing already. And a recipe for further amazingness.

Is it terrible that I sometimes really don't like talking to my brother on the phone even though he lives thousands of miles that way and I see him once in a blue moon? Probably. Apologies.

Awful dream last night. Really awful. I was very nearly hoarse waking up from all the shouting I'd done in that nightmare. If you knew me well enough though, you'd know that that was probably a good sign, that dream.

Pink champagne is disgusting. Sorry, but it is. Lovely celebrating though. About ninety of us traipsed down the road on the way to Clegg's and essentially got an invite to a gang bang. In the form of wolf whistles and bawdy calls of, I dunno, approval? The elderly of today. Turns my stomach. We did look lovely though. I really liked my dress. Three drinks for a tenner, in fairness, as well. Could you go wrong? I was quite the drunken mess last night, however.

Bits of last night are coming back to me in sporadic bursts. For example, earlier I got a weird pang remembering being in the toilets with Amy. I was upset as it had occurred to me that somehow the word might get out that I was a spastic, to which Amy genuinely replied, 'Emma, he reads your blog: he already knows you're a spastic'. Which is true. I may as well own up to the fact that this is just mindless drivel and, in being so, the story of my fucking life.

I bought six cans of Bavaria and three cans of Linden Village in the offy yesterday evening and the wench behind the counter didn't even ask me for ID. And, God bless him, nor did Dave in Clegg's. What is the point?

I like to allude to certain things sometimes, but mostly I prefer being blatant. But, right now, it's probably safer to say nothing at all. Extremely difficult, but safer.

I want a hug. I really want a hug. A cup of tea and a hug and bed and cuddles all night long. Please. Hangovers make me feel very fucking vulnerable.

I am going to go watch Garden State now. What a lovely birthday present! (:

Drunken Tendencies.

Last night was good. In fact, last night was pretty much as close to perfect as my birthday celebrations are ever going to get. But why am I such a drunken fool? Why do I come up with these strange thoughts in the middle of a normal, standard conversation? I'll tell you why: these self-sabotaging habits of mine. Get a grip, Emma.

I actually had to check my phone this morning to see if I'd sent any bizarre and depressing text messages. Sweet, miraculous exhaustion: I hadn't.

Basically, you're amazing.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

A Pleasant Friday Evening.

Dinner (which was disgusting but sort of edible and, at the very least, fuel), homework (fair enough, it was only the easy bits, but certainly better than nothing), shower (brief but beautiful. Oh, I love the smell of that sea shower gel. Mmm.), tea and birthday cake, Whose Line is it Anyway? and a two hour nap. Fucking amazing.

Wide awake now, however, and in bed watching Jack Dee on telly. I've seen this episode a minimum of 7,546 times. I spent my entire summer watching Dave and Comedy Central (previously Paramount. Whatever happened to that?): I know most of Jack Dee's material by rote. Does this mean that I have no life? Had a horribly unproductive summer? Or does this mean that I am the coolest person in the world ever? Hmm.

She's basically hilarious:

Watch her:

Tomorrow should be good. Hopefully. Ya know when you plan things to go swimmingly? They don't. I'm expecting drama of some description. Hopefully not. I haven't the heart for it.

Still dreaming about that amazing dress that doesn't exist. I think I'd actually kill for it.

The roof of my mouth is in ribbons. Not at all impressed. Would love some salt now. Hmm.

I'm incredibly unhealthy but other unhealthy people freak the shit out of me. Sorry, but they do. What a hypocrite I am.

I basically want to hear all the niceties now. But I'm like that. I need reassurance. Trust is a strange idea.

This whole anniversary of my birth thing makes me wonder...

Happy birthday, Wayne & Lauren also. (:

Thursday, September 10, 2009

One More Time With Feeling.

You thought by now you'd be
so much better than you are.
You thought by now they'd see
that you have come so far.

One of those Realisation Kind of Blogs.

Basically beginning to question myself and my penchant for making steadfast plans for studying and getting approx. 600 points in the Leaving and almost as quickly throwing said plans out the window along with good sleeping patterns and normal stress levels. What is my beef and why do I do this to myself? Need a plan of action. Need to stop blogging every thought in my head.

I seem to do most good things in my life to please other people. The things I do to make myself happy are normally bad for my health or my brain or my heart or all three at once. I wonder what this says about my state of mind? Or the kind of person I am?

I don't think I'm so bad anymore. I used to think I was awful. But I really don't anymore. Katie Mash was crying and I looked after her. Not because it makes me look like the most kindly person in the world, but because I actually genuinely care. There was nothing in it for me at all. I just wanted her not to be sad. And this isn't me tooting my own horn, even though it sounds like it. This is just me justifying myself to someone who never even reads these things. Ughh. I'm not so bad.

I'm pretty blunt about things. And honest to the point of insulting. Almost. But I never mean it. And if I do, I mean it in the nicest way possible. I just prefer honesty. I don't like buttering people up. Or pretending I care when I don't. But mostly I do care.

More than likely, your first impression of me won't be accurate. If you've ever met me for the first time when I haven't been heavily intoxicated, I am mute. I seem like I have no personality and no opinions on anything. I am silent and harmless and shy and innocent. But that's not me at all. It's the opposite of Emma Norris. And it's fucking painful. Maybe if you know me, you'll know that I'm just a louder version of the same. But I like to think I'm not so one-dimensional. I sort of like who I am these days. Even if I am a bit affected in the brain.

Oh, I make mistakes like you wouldn't believe. I give no regard to consequences. Which can end up good or bad in generally fairly equal servings. Life is short, etc. But I've landed myself in so very many sticky situations. If I had the nerve to blog about them, they really would make for hilarious reading. I'm quite proud of that fact and maybe I shouldn't be. But, I dunno, my life is fairly interesting. Never left bored.

When I read other people's blogs and stuff, I think that they're amazing and why can't I write like that? Why can't I write about the interesting and topical things that they write about? Why aren't I hilarious like they are? But fuck it. I'm hilarious in my own, quiet, self-deprecating way, aren't I? Ughh. Anyway, topical things rarely interest me. You know, the kinds of things that interest other people? Not my thing at all. I much prefer people's thoughts and the kinds of things that are going on in people's heads and in their lives. Which is why my blog is as self-indulgent as they come. To be honest, I don't really see the point of blogging otherwise if I'm not writing about exactly what I want to write about. You don't have to be interested, or pretend to be interested, or even read this. But if you actually care what I'm abhorring or obsessively over these days, then you've come to the right place, it has to be said.

Basically I'm neurotic. I love other neurotic people too.

On a news kind of note, I had the nicest birthday. The details are pretty, y'know, unbloggable. But it was lovely. Just lovely. :)

This is so exciting, all of this. I feel like I should be cool and mature about the whole thing but I've made that mistake before. 'Cool' is definitely not me. 'Cool' has nothing to do with me. I'm warm and embarrassing and painfully comfortable around you when I really shouldn't be at all. Probably. Neck-farting? I'm too weird. Too weird too soon. But shucks.

I'm looking forward to Saturday in a huge way.

This is terrible: I'm still in my jammies and my hair is stuck to my head and I haven't done anything productive all day. Hmm. I'm the bane of my life.

Things are very interesting at the moment. In the nicest way possible. I'm pretty much basically really fucking happy.


Castle Field on the ninth of September, two thousand and nine.

Tuesday, September 08, 2009

Debs Photos, etc.

I feel like seriously updating this blog with the day-to-day details of my life. Interested? I'll include pictures for those of you who, like me, grow weary of lengthy prose two sentences in.

Firstly, Regina Spektor's new album is lovely. And it's probably forever more going to remind me of these fluttering moth-filled tummy feelings. Which is sort of nice. Download. Or, if you're short for time, listen to this song.

Some of my favourite pictures from the Mon' Debs 2009. :)

Evan and I on the bus. Smiling and grimacing.

I'm pretty affectionate. Obvs. And I love Evan.

I like this picture. I love Valerie and I love Evan and this picture is the story of my actual life.

In the Springhill Court Hotel, Kilkenny. Tipsy on Southern Comfort and Coke and a few sips of Mickey Finn's. Eww to the latter.

I love this picture. I love the peculiar smiles on our faces.

That's supposed to be sexy. Rather hilarious, no?

Everything is super.


Namesake etc.

This blog is called 'The Magic Position' for no real reason other than I really like this song. Go listen to it. It's pretty uplifting. And apt. Sort of. Life is good, etc., etc..

Today is my last day of being a minor. Pretty exciting. Only I'm in bed with something of a phlegmy tummy and I feel a bit crappy. But other than that, life is going quite swimmingly, thanks for enquiring.

I will be eighteen in a matter of hours and I am stunned. I know it's not a big deal, I realise it's only a number, but I'm pretty shocked I survived this long. Who knew I had it in me?

Tomorrow should be nice.

Lately I've been so happy
Just holding you and gazing into your eyes
Like in a movie
You are a star
I mean, a starlet
Listen, the night we met I fell in love with you
Who'd have guessed, who'd have guessed?
I'm in love, I'm in love!

Something like that anyway. ;)

Listen to this song, from which I have cleverfully extracted the above lyrics. It's nice.

Saturday, September 05, 2009

Feeling Terrified?

What a wonderful feeling!

I have an itchy finger. Itchy trigger finger? Hmm. Fleas? Swine flu? I am kind of snotty-nosed today. But I had a cup of tea (as though I need an excuse) to try and drive the disease-ridden sweat from my body. Hyponchondriacs R Us.

Life is so scary. Five hundred and fifty points for Pharmacy in Trinners. I feel a bit ill. But wonderfully motivated.

Life is scary but in the best way possible. All of this right now is just amazing. Everything is just, y'know, nice. In a lovely even keel kind of normal way. I love it.

Oh, the moths, how they consume the hatred! You may starve, moths! Inside joke. I'm not actually mental... Ha. Just about.

I officially have no clothes. Damn. Must go locate something that's not in tatters or too small or too big or whatevs, bbz. Also going to go wash.

Ya know what's a bad idea? Thinking about things. I hate being forced to think about things. I don't know if there's anything I abhor more than being forced to face certain home truths. I'll deal with them in my own time and at my own pace. Please don't mention them to me. Unless it's painfully obvious that I don't know of their existence. Most of the time, I do. I just quite like denial. Hmm.

Terror. Terrible terror. But, gosh, I'm excited.

What a ghastly and repetitive blog. Apologies.

Friday, September 04, 2009

Don't Give Up Now, OK?

'Life' is a word I use too much and I'm not even entirely sure what it means. To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all.

My existence has changed a lot lately. I'm not used to this new me though. Often, the whole thing is a bit bizarre. But I wouldn't change it. Not for anything. Life goes on and we all have to move on, one way or another. Severing all ties is not something I do very well. I like having friends, I'll be honest. This might be a bad idea but I'll deal with the consequences later if I have to.

I'm liking Sixth Year even though it sent me reeling into a paroxysm of weeping last night. Or perhaps that was the exhaustion? Sixth Year feels strange. Life is moving on. I'm almost an adult. Does this mean I can vote on the Lisbon Treaty? And, if so, what should I be voting? And what exactly would I be voting for? Once upon a time (for whatever reason), I was interested in politics. I am glad I have outgrown this silly phase. Surely life (whatever it is) is more important?

I'm rambling. Excuse me.

I'm a nervous little bitch at the best of times and whether or not last night's terrible mood addled my brain all the more, I don't know, but suddenly I feel like a freak. This is terrible. Damn butterflies. Why aren't I cool, calm and collected?

I say 'damn terrible', but I mean 'damn excellent'. In a funny, scary sort of lovely way. This is an adventure. Terribly terrified but wicked excited.

Table Quiz tonight. As it turns out (and this will shock you), I don't want to go. Who knew Emma Norris was antisocial? Horrified? Me too. Gutted when I found out. I'm so sleepy. Bed at ten, up at half seven, yet still pure exhausted. And such an unnatural amount of homework has never yet been seen on this earth. I wonder if I have time for a nap before life resumes?

Anyone remember that film Ghost with Patrick Swayze? There is a film I would kill to see again. (Pun? Anyone? Sort of?)

I'm yawning here like a yawn thing.

Thursday, September 03, 2009

I think I'll give up on blog titles for a while. How can I possibly sum up these feelings? Ughh.

It's amazing how fast things change. It's amazing how amazing my life is going at the moment but I'm still sick with worry: the whole world will find out what a horrible person I am, I'll fail my Leaving Cert., and no college will have me. Why am I in this mood? Well, I know why and I know it's my own fault. But this is terrible. I need a hug.

Maybe it's the stress. Maybe Sixth Year is getting to me already? Ughh, get a grip, Emma.

The worst thoughts in the world.

Wednesday, September 02, 2009


I'm failing to think of hilarious and witty and apt titles for my blog posts these days. What's happening to me? Blog post titles were always my strong point. Hmm. I think it's safe to say that I've lost my touch.

However, life is amazing. Clever blog post title or lack thereof, life is good. Basically.

This will be brief. And badly written. But it's just an update.

I feel a bit weird. Good weird. Scared. But excited. Eeep. This feeling is so nice. And new.

Sixth Year. Bit draining. So I've chosen to blog instead of doing homework. Good idea? Bad idea? Ughh. Off to a bad start, maybe. But I'll live. I lived before. There were slack days in Fifth Year but I survived that smiling. I'm not trying to kid myself into thinking I can do the same thing in Sixth Year and get away with it. But, y'know, I need sleep tonight anyway. And warm water for my poor throbbing feet. And copious amounts of tea. And QI. For educational purposes, obviously.

Debs was excellent.

I'm in love with Of Montreal lately. For soup-er cereal. (; Lately, I've been so happy, just holding you and gazing into your eyes like in a movie... Ooh. Baby, you're magic is working.

I literally have nothing else to write about. I'd forgotten how good I was at procrastinating though. It's a talent, it really is.

Oh, also, I'm eighteen in exactly a week. Big deal? Small deal? No deal!