Monday, November 30, 2009

While I Avoid History Project.

Mummy Dearest gave me the day off school today to do my History Project. I did a lot of copying and pasting and then fell asleep for three and a half hours, dreaming about puppies and condoms and weird diseases. Sort of a nightmare that ended in a Jack Russell terrier laying eggs and little puppies (that were pink and green and looked like kittens) hatched out of ‘em. I have about nine hundred words on Maud Gonne and Inghinidhe na hÉireann, none of which are my own words. I have to do some serious paraphrasing. I have to finish it today and go to the library later to print it. Hopefully. Fingers crossed.

I can’t wait to go Christmas shopping. Oh, you have no idea. I can’t wait to have nice new clothes and get my camera and eat my din-dins and copious amounts of Tayto and cans of Coke. And go out. Maybe even risk disco. Who knows? The night is young, etc., etc.

My sister was in earlier, crying about her boyfriend, what a dick he is. And he really is a dick. But it made me realise how little I cry about boys lately. I miss you, of course I do, and there’s not a day that goes by when I don’t think about you. But I don’t miss fights and tension and ambiguity and bending over backwards to try to make you happy, with no result. Boys control your emotions too much and they don’t even know they’re doing it. Or maybe they do. I don’t know. It’s nice to not have that anymore, my emotions are not in your hands. They’re mine and mine alone.

Having said that, there’s probably some perfect boy out there who’s loud and honest and beautiful and emotionally unstable and who likes to dance and go on adventures and is perfect. He can take his time entering my life though – I’m in no rush. (:

Off to do more History or wallow or something. There’s some books I want from the library. Hopefully I can get them. That should be exciting. It was nice knowing you delicious people. TTFN.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

All is Right with the World, Somehow.

I didn’t want to do another hangover post, but I did want to blog and since I’m practically fully recovered, I don’t think this counts. So here you go. A post. Are you excited? I’m excited. Comment, you sexy bitches. Even if it’s just to tell me what a loser I am. Innit that I love the attention?

Woke up this morning still drunk. Weird sensation. This has never happened before. Don’t remember how I got home or got into bed. This has happened before. Woke up with my pyjama top over my going out clothes, and two skirts on. I don’t know what I was thinking but it was probably that primal instinct to make sure you’re warm. Strange choice of attire though.

At seven this morning I ate a packet of Taytos (horrible, I know, but ya need carbohydrates) while watching something on GOLD. I feel asleep for a few hours (a rarity, so I was thrilled) and when I woke up ‘Last of the Summer Wine’ was on. Hmm. It was rather amusing. I made a sausage sandwich but I let them burn and they weren’t exactly easy on the tummy. While lying on the couch covered in paper-thin blankets, I watched last night’s X Factor.

If Olly doesn’t win, I will have to kill someone. Factoid. I love him. Him singing the Take That song was just beautiful. Perfect. What I wouldn’t give to have Olly Murs sing to me. For serial. What a man. I don’t get what people see in Joe. He can sing, like. He sang ‘Sorry Seems to be the Hardest Word’ lovely, like. But he’s so effeminate. I don’t know. It freaks me out. He’s also very short. And he seems a lot older than he actually is. Stacey’s lovely too but, I dunno, she’s getting a bit stale. I love her, like, but it’s all starting to sound a bit samey. Danyl’s grand. I don’t really have any beef with him. I don’t particularly like his voice but, meh, I’ll let him live. Why did Lloyd get sent home? He’s too beautiful. Breaks my heart. But he took it well, in fairness to him. Such a cutie. What a piece of meat.

Speaking of meat, we had fancy barbeque ribs for dinner. It was quite fancy. We’re not normally that exotic. We’re pretty much beans, peas, Donegal Catch, oven chips, rashers, sausages, roast chicken and spuds kind of people. I wish we weren’t – I love different food – but my mother’s not very adventurous and while I have great ideas for dinnertime, I can never seem to execute them. Pretty redundant in the kitchen. I’ll be living on beans on toast this time next year. Or noodles on toast. Or spaghetti on toast.

Watched the Toy Show again today. I adore Ryan Tubridy. Reminiscent of the great Gay Byrne shur. What a man. Ryan is just lovely. I love how enthusiastic he was. And funny. And honest. What. A. Man.
I’ve, like, no homework done. I have Maths and Chemistry in the bag but that’s it. God, I hate Sundays. And hangovers. Unproductive combination. But, I dunno, it’s more the principle of doing homework on a Sunday. It kills me. Day of rest, me hole. Oh well. Could be worse!

Yeah, so, I’m a nasty little bitch of a drunk at times. And oh so spasticated. Lately, I’m either angry or sad when I’m drunk. I’d love to know what my beef is. No more alcól, please. I know I’ve said this countless times but I do mean it now. I always always always have one sip of Bulmers too many and then it’s all over. Story of my life. No more of that. Tea, please. And conversations. Fair staying in next weekend to watch X Factor and wake up Sunday not dying. Sounds like bliss? ‘Cause it is.

If anything wants to happen vis-á-vis the Other Thing, let it. I haven’t the energy (or the interest, to be honest) to try to influence it either way. Things only happen ‘cause they’re supposed to and I’m beginning to think that whatever happens, I could well end up happy anyway. I want to be that person. That happy person that you see and think, ‘They’re so happy just being themselves, doing their own thing’. Is that even possible? Shur we’ll give it ago. At times, I kind of like Emma Norris. I’d rather be completely insane in the membrane and honest and laughing than be one of those people who try to hide the madness. And I don’t know why that is exactly. I dunno, I think it’s just better to be yourself. Obviously. Myself is a bit nutty but I think my honesty sort of makes it okay. Maybe. I don’t know. I don’t want to be too generous here. But I think you get me. I hope you do.

Also, what is my problem with leaving my coat on the whole time? I look like a spa. It’s a lovely coat but it’s not really for indoor use, Emma. So give over.

So no homework and spots curing nicely (hopefully). I’m listening to the ‘New Moon’ soundtrack and I actually fair want to see the film. Oh, lovely vampires, please let me on your bandwagon. Please? Off to watch Sunday night hilarity telly and maybe drink some tea. The sheets are clean and so am I and all is right with the world.

I like how honest you are. I like that we’re both honest.

I think that’s all for now. You kids mind yourselves, mmmkay? x
So tell me when you hear my heart stop,
You’re the only who knows
Tell me when you hear my silence
There’s a possibility
I wouldn’t know
I love songs that remind you of people because they showed you the song and it was beautiful. The moment was beautiful and the song was beautiful and everything was just lovely.
Lauren, Drohan & I [2]Lauren, Drohan & ILauren, Drohan & I. Cusack’s. I love Lauren. (:

Friday, November 27, 2009

Lovepain.

Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up these defences, you build this whole suit of armour, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life. You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They do something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own any more. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul hurt, a body hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.

Thursday, November 26, 2009

A Blog in Which I Complain a Bit.

I’m in a bad mood. Today was fine but I’ve had a nap and woken up cranky and am in no mood to do homework. And my knees are so sore still. And they’re getting worse, ‘cause they’re sore when I’m sitting down now and they’re not even in any weird (or magic) positions. Having to bend down in school to get books out of my bag or whatever just broke my heart. I take pain personally and it feels like my knees have a vengeance against me. I feel so old with my dodgy joints. And I sound like my sister with all my ailments. (I also look like my sister, apparently. Since I’m getting older and my face is getting older. I think this is a compliment, because my sister is quite pretty.)

I love how quickly you change your mind about me. How one minute, I’m wonderful and you want to spend every minute with me, and in another instant, you can barely look at me. I don’t love that – I was being sardonic. It kills me really, that I owe you nothing but I still run around after you like I do. Why do I bother? Every day I’m bracing myself to see you with other people so that I can finally say to myself, ‘I am wasting my time’. But you are much too clever and I keep missing out on those moments of realisation. Not realisation, no, because I already know what you’re like. More like persuasion. So that I’ll finally just believe those moments and believe that your personality will always manifest itself in these sordid ways. Ughh.

This weekend has to be productive. On some level, please. I have to make a decent start on my painting for Art and I have to do my History project first draft. I have to. And if I do nothing other than those two things, that’s okay. But I have to do them. Okay? Okay.

Going out for Hannah’s birthday on Saturday. I wanted an excuse. Can I trust myself to act with some decorum and not steal more alcohol from Michael? I don’t know. Probably not. But if I’m trying to impress anyone, I needn’t worry because they’ve already seen me in a suitably inebriated state. Which is just as well really. Hate having to hide the madness, ha.

I have to go to the doctor’s tomorrow about my knees and my face. I hope he doesn’t want to look at my knees. I’ll be all like, ‘Nah, boi. They be private organs’. :/

Hopefully borrowing Twilight (book & film) from Hazel tomorrow too, to keep me occupied over the weekend in case everything else falls by the wayside. I’m looking forward to getting on this bandwagon and seeing what the hype is actually about. Anyway, I don’t know when I last read a book of any description. This should be interesting. Aren’t I great?

Ya know the way there’s bands and artists you like and then there’s ones that really mean something to you? Yeah. That’s nice. I like that. Modest Mouse, Belle & Sebastian, Rilo Kiley and Bright Eyes. I love them like family.

Damn it, I’m getting fatter.

‘Emma Desperate’ shur.

Christmas will be something of a disaster this year, I think. Poverty and that. I’m getting a camera though. Which is exciting. I’m really happy about it, to be honest. And Christmas dinner is probably the highlight. But it’s all a bit boring, isn’t it? St Stephen’s Night and New Year’s Eve. They’re all I’m actually looking forward to. Everything/ everyone else can go away. Dinner, drunk times, photos and my friends. Thank you very much. Few girly sessions at my house too, please. Thanks.

Hazel & I [2]
Speaking of nice photos and drunk times, there’s me and Hazel at Lisa’s eighteenth. I do love Hazel. Borris 4 Basil. <3

I just discovered these emoticons and only for they’re so hilarious, I wouldn’t be posting them. I do love bunnies. They sort of remind me of Bunny Suicides and those bunnies on Angry Alien. N’awhh. (:
 
That’s it, I think. Fo’ now. Mind yerselves, yeah? x

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

ALL I EVER GET IS SAD LOVE.

Because I’m stuck for something vivid and wildly interesting to blog about on this cold and wet November afternoon, I thought I’d divest myself of some of the images stored on my computer and share them with the blog-reading community at large. Share and share alike. Normally I copy them straight off the sites and put them on the blog but I have heaps of ‘em stored in the confines of my ‘Internet Pics’ folder and the day that’s in it, I thought, ‘Why not share?’ So yeah. This is me sharing.
Admit Nothing
Antisocial Dog
Anxiety
Boar & Fishermen
Extinction
I Deduce...
Man & Woman
Not in Wonderland Anymore
Emotionally stable is boring. FACT. If I ever get married, it will be to a boy who is as bizarre in the brain as I am.
x

Sunday, November 22, 2009

Opinions on Things or Something.

I am so glad that Jedward have been booted off X Factor. If Olly ended up going home, there would have been absolute war. Angry emails or something. I want Olly to win. Please. Yes yes. Thank you. (:
I love Des Bishop. I think he is possibly my favourite comedian and sort of because he reminds me of my brother. ‘He was cute and I don’t mean cuddly’.
It was nice while it lasted.
Moisturised ears. My life is a farce.
I love KOD. If I was at death’s door with all my limbs gone, the girl would still have me laughing. Oh funsies.
Gimme a hug ta fuck. What I wouldn’t give for a cuddle now. Story of my life.
I’m thinking heartfelt text message but I don’t know. Probs just make things worse. And aren’t we volatile enough as it is without me providing a spark?
Jesus, I’m bet. Bed. Yes.

Post-Session Blog Post. HBL.

Get dirty. Get fucking filthy. Get poor. Get off your ass. Get desperate. Get dangerous. Get vilified. Get vile. Get romantic. Get fucked. Get moving. Get productive. Get pro-active. Get started. Get your own life. Get doing something. Anything. Because before you know it, you’re forty with kids, a mortgage, and responsibilities that cause your fun to come second. So, before cancer, before children, before 50 hour work weeks, before back and knee problems, before school loans, before you lose your sense of humour… Fight. Fight and fuck and run and smile. Smile because the older you get, the less you will. So yes, ‘quit being such a goddamn pussy’, because bitching and whining and worry never made anything better.

‘Finish every day and be done with it. You have done what you could; some blunders and absurdities crept in; forget them as soon as you can. Tomorrow is a new day; you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense’. (Ralph Waldo Emerson)
‘A man reserves his true and deepest love not for the species of woman whose company he finds himself electrified and enkindled, but for that one in whose company he may feel tenderly drowsy’. (George Jean Nathan)


This is another hangover blog. I have nothing to say, for fear I’ll incriminate someone. And by ‘someone’, I mean myself, of course. I liked last night. The bits I remember. I like to think I’m better off remembering only what I remember at this point. Additional information would probably just upset me. As is usually the case. For once in my life, I am perfectly happy being oblivious. And I really hope no one changes that state of being.

Physically, I feel like death. Every muscle in my body is just going, ‘Emma… Why?’ And I cannot answer. Because I don’t know. Why do we do this to ourselves? Forever saying ‘I’m never drinking again’. Always a lie. I don’t know. Self-deception is a lovely thing at times.

I hope I’m not deceiving myself vis-a-vis that other thing though. Probably just a fluke. Speaking of flukes and things that just, y’know, happen… I sincerely hope that other thing doesn’t get found out and land me in a sticky situation. Drunkenness is a poor excuse but that’s what I’ll stand by. That’s what I’ll absolutely swear by. It sounds like I’m lying, doesn’t it? That it wasn’t drunkenness at all. Well, it was. And it was oh-so-random. Love it. Love the hilarity factor.

Last night really was hilarious. Random encounters. This morning. In the bed. Oh, LOL. I really do love my life at times. It’s all so… funny. Even all those stupid situations. In fact, especially all those stupid situations. In retrospect. Thinking about some things is making me feel a bit blushy and a bit stupid and pathetic and ashamed of myself, etc., but shur look! It’s a new day etc., etc. It’s not not as if I can change anything now so there’s no sense in worrying about it.

I think that’s all for now. I fear I’ve said too much already and will only end up indulging you even further into the dark recesses of my life if I continue this waffle much longer. And we can’t have that.

Off to make tea, perhaps, do a bit of tidying. Dinner, homework (if I feel so inclined), DVD, bed. And by ‘bed’ I mean ‘dead’. Oh, kill me now. My aching head.

Friday, November 20, 2009

An ‘I Can’t Sleep So I’ll Update You on My Life’ Post.

Still in two minds about what to do on Saturday but after talking to Aisling, I’ve ruled out the Dublin thing. It simply wouldn’t be a clever idea, given the weather predictions, innit? Anyway, we’ve made plans to go another time when the weather’s that bit nicer. And also to go look at UL ‘cause Aisling loves it and I’ve never been and since it’ll probs end up being #2 on the CAO, I ought to risk visiting. Supposed to be very brown in decor, but in a very endearing way, according to Aisling.

So no Dublin Saturday. My other options include History project, Art painting, X Factor, getting absolutely carparked and full of cans of Druids. And I’m not sure which to go for. I’m making a huge deal out of what will turn out to be a pretty mundane Saturday. This I know. But for some reason I’ve placed a lot on this weekend. And I’m so nervous and excited (and other nauseating feelings) that I can’t sleep.

I want to see you this weekend and I want it to be nice. Just me and you talking and messin’ and laughing and maybe sipping on a can or two and falling home at one in the morning filled with love and kebabs. That would be lovely. And unlikely. That would be perfect.

I’m a magnet for drama lately, I really am. While catching up with my best friend earlier (both of us panned out on my bed, in between hilariously massaging each other’s backs and listening to the Raconteurs’ old stuff), we reached the terrible/ terribly hilarious conclusion that lately, I seem to attract drama like the flu. I listed all the possible theatrics that could ensue, and there are quite a few nasty episodes that may or may not manifest themselves. All of which leave me at the centre of, y’know, detest and that…

Drama. I tend not to act very sensibly. I tend to make bad decisions out of pure boredom. Boredom, self-sabotage, but never malice. In fact, mostly stupidity.

I would like things to return to how they were in June and July, please. I would like to go back to London and take more photos and get even more drunk. I want to go back in time and buy even more flaggons of Linden Village and find even remoter locations in which to drink them. I would like to pitch that tent in barren landscapes and sleep forever. I would like to play more Xbox with you.

There’s all these stupid quotes from songs rolling around my brain that sort of sum up how I feel about you. But only in a certain context. Mostly, there really aren’t the words. There’s just this feeling. And if you were right here beside me now, you’d understand. I pretty much just want to hold your hand.

I love you. I’d do anything in my power to make you happy and make you smile at least several hundred times a day. I’d make you cheese on toast and vinegar sandwiches. I’d kiss you all over when you feel sad and sleepy and you just want to be. I’d hug you close to me when you’re tired. I’d watch football matches with you and be genuinely interested in the outcome. I’d hate Thierry Henry along with you. I’d love you no matter what. I’d never snap at you and I’d forgive you if you snapped at me. I’d go anywhere with you. I’d follow you into the dark and it wouldn’t matter what anyone else said or thought. All that would matter is that you were mine and I was yours.

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Drama/ Dublin/ Cans.

Last night drama erupted in Knackeragua resulting in a jeep being set ablaze and two fire brigades flashing their lights at two in the morning while I slept peacefully in my bed dreaming about Dublin and you. More on the jeep thing as news reaches me.

I noticed today that I only ever wear a tracksuit when I’m going to the doctor’s. Wearing a tracksuit bottoms now. Off to the psych people at half two. But only if I get a lift. I refuse to venture out into that hurricane alone. I would rather go in Tommy’s smelly red banger than risk being blown away into oblivion, especially when I am so nice and clean.

Weather warning for Saturday, apparently. And all of a sudden I’m in two minds about the Dublin thing. I mean, seven o’clock in the morning bus and trying to find that elusive DCU in the rain when I could be in bed. Sleeping. And waiting for the night time to creep ‘round so I could spend some more time with you, hoping you wanted to spend time with me too. That what you said was genuine. I would love to get drunk with you right there beside me and I wouldn’t cry at all because I’d be happy.

So Dublin or drunk times?

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

DCU Open Day this Saturday?

I really want to go. In fact, I am going. I have to. Factoid. But Dublin is a big place and I thought the whole adventure would only involve a bus trip to Dublin and a couple of goes on the Luas for me and my best friend to end up outside Dublin City University. According to the website and the maps and information they published, this is not the case. It involves bus numbers of which I have no comprehension and mentions of DART stops and other things that mean nothing to me. And I’ve never ever been on the North Side.

Out of (a sort of helpless) curiosity, will anyone helpful be around Dublin on Saturday morning and be willing to point me in the general direction of a relevant bus stop? Please?

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

Regular Blogpost.

So. I feel like I should update again. Properly. Why, I don’t know.

I should be doing my history project now. Why is there always something you should be doing but opt out of doing because you want to do something else several degrees less productive? I don’t know. But blogging is my ‘instead’ thing, as usual.

I’m not going to socialise on Saturday. It will end in tears and drama and other horrible things. Probably a fight. And secrets being divulged. I’m safer if I stay away. And if everything comes out anyway, at least I won’t be at the epicentre of the drama. Better off at home watching X Factor and learning German or something.

DCU Open Day is on Saturday-day anyway. I’m looking forward to it. Journalism there would be lovely, but lots of points required, by the look of their website, which is a bit unsettling. Once upon a time, it was 420, but last time I checked, it was 475. I might have read it wrong or whatever. I hope I did. I really don’t feel like aiming for 500 points. I haven’t the energy.

All the pretty pictures that you see are not a reality. I wish they were. I wish it was possible for your life to one day look like all those soft-lit and colourful and lovely pictures, but I don’t think mine ever will. You’ll always have to get up early and study and have commitments and things. This probably suits other people, but it breaks my heart.

I wasn’t lying when I said that I wasn’t supposed to be alive. And I don’t even mean that in a depressing kind of way (even though it’s bound to come out that way). I just mean that me and life don’t really suit each other. Something always feels just a bit off. You know?

Regarding that other disaster in my life, I feel like you’re dead. Everything is against me (and you too, I suppose) and it seems like it would never ever work. But I still believe that it would. I don’t know if that’s stupidity or the power of love, but I do think we’ll overcome the odds in twenty years or something.

In the meantime, I really ought to concern myself with getting better and getting on in school and avoiding all the shit I seem to be landing myself in lately. If I was any good, I’d keep my mouth shut firmly. Not everyone needs to know the details in the fabric that is Emma Norris ragged and torn life.

Another reason for abstaining from alcohol. I’m too honest at the best of times. Worse when inebriated. No more of that. No more honesty? I don’t know. Just no more sharing my life story, maybe.

Or dancing with boys. No more dancing with boys who think that the only reason you’re dancing with them is because you want to get into them. And that’s just not true. Because, honestly, no one can live up to the boy I have in my head and I’m not interested in investigating anyone else ‘just in case’.

Come back into my life, please. I won’t ever be properly happy until you are here again properly.

Social Networking.

I’ve been on these various bandwagons since I was fifteen and every now and again they irritate me beyond belief. Such a waste of time.
I’ve deleted MySpace, Facebook and Twitter from my life. No need for ‘social interviews’ or ‘friend requests’ or being followed/ being stalked. Or stalking others, for that matter.
The blog will be the next to go, probably.
Bebo soon. The only reason there’s a delay on that one is because I’m sure there are a few photos I have yet to plunder from my ‘friends’ first, and copy from my profile as well.
I shall be only available through the medium of actual speech. Hopefully. Texting anyway. But since I never have credit, this will prove an inefficient method of communication, I'm sure.
This narcissism isn’t very healthy, is it?
Would it be a bit extreme to uninstall MSN from my laptop as well? I think this is the biggest culprit in my rage at technology. MSN is an intrusion in my life. People get so annoyed when you don’t reply within two minutes. It might not seem like it, but I do actually have a life and other things to do besides engage in silly small talk with my fellow robots. I know that I am a hypocrite for appearing online on MSN and then complaining when people talk to me. But still. I don’t know…
Yeah, I’m uninstalling MSN and begging mummy dearest to buy me credit. Ughh.
Should the blog go too? Probably. Hmm.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

Oh, Whatever.

All I ever get is sad love
the unrequited kind is all I have procured
And it was nothing at all
like what I've heard about love
This morning was just lovely. A repeat of that every so often would keep me perfectly content forever, I think. And it’s certainly better than nothing at all. Which is my only other option.
Shakespeare Boy, come ‘ere to me. Phwoarrr.
Kisses are strange. ‘When you kissed me, I got all dizzy again’.
I’ll die.
Story of my life.
Jammy.
Little bitch.
Innit?
The best way to get over a fella is to get under a new one. Apparently.
‘He got his ride and then he dumped ya’. Harsh?
They’re giving us weird looks ‘cause we’re kissing each other’.
Bavaria under your hood.
‘He probably thought you were trying to get into him. That’s why he wasn’t talking to you’. As if I would. I don’t even like him!
I’m sorry for making you cry.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Questions and Stuff.

This achy feeling. You’re there but you’re not really there and I want you so badly. I need you. Things just feel all wrong when you’re not included in the equation. I shouldn’t want this but I do. And I’d give anything, I’d do anything – I’d bend over backwards and travel to the moon and back if I thought it would change things, if I thought it would change your mind.
 
Clegg’s tonight then? What colour should I paint my nails? Will you be there? Please don’t be. Will €5 get me suitably shitfaced? I hope so. I need an excuse.

Someone please surprise me.

Dream.

Last night I dreamt you died. I was distraught. But it was like theatre. It wasn’t real and I probably didn’t care all that much in reality. I wanted to pull you away from your friends. You were supposed to be mine and mine alone. Wandering around on country roads and through a film set. You are mine.

I wonder how you died. I called H but she didn’t know. And her name wasn’t even H. It was Emma. So I was phoning myself, in tears and broken sentiments about how I missed you so much.

We went to buy sugar from a man on the side of the road. T picked out the cream coloured variation and you brought me home.

I don’t know how you died. I think it was a train. Which would be sort of ironic. Especially since it was only in my head and therefore purely a comment on how I feel about you. If it was a train, it would be very ironic indeed. Or else just very spiteful on my part.

Well, anyway, I hope you’re well and not dead. x

Thursday, November 12, 2009

Seeing You.

Seeing you can either cheer me up or bring me down to the ground and reduce me to a sobbing mess. Both are equally likely. But this was nice. And I feel better just knowing that you think the same things as me from time to time. I love you.

you would be disappointed.

I can’t shake this feeling that something’s missing. There’s a gap in my life and it won’t ever go away. Maybe that’s naive. But I don’t know. I miss you. It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks. They’ll think what they want and I’ll do what I want and it’s always going to be like. I’m stubborn. Fact. 

Oh, I don’t know at all.

I want to talk and say what I mean. And I want you to listen and want the same things that I want.

But I am barking up the wrong tree. And that is the story of my life.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Getting Things off Chest.

School is stressful even when it shouldn’t be. I always feel ugly in school. I’m always tired and spotty and those uniforms are devastatingly unflattering. Still, I care a lot less than I used to about that sort of thing. It would be nice to look nice at least once every so often in school but the likelihood is rather small. I shall make do with hygiene, I think. Though even that is hard to maintain when your school uniform smells like old, damp school by Monday evening. Will college be like this? Someone please tell me; I worry about this kind of thing.

Didn’t get neutralised for not having my History Project done. Barbie was disappointed and I told her that I didn’t blame her at all. I think the sincerity helped, to be honest. I really do think she should’ve slapped me from one end of the room to the other because I did have ages to do this project and I’m horribly lazy… But there you go: Barbie’s some woman.

Got back another English Paper One answer today. Happy out. Now I feel like I can’t be swayed from the journalism thing. It’s just… me.

Speaking of journalism, DCU Open Day soon. Looking forward to that.

Still riddled in Sudocreme. These blasted spots would seriously want to pack up their belongings and get the fuck off my face soon: I’m not able for them anymore.

I feel better after yesterday’s passive-aggressive post; it got a lot out of my system. I realised that my complaining and whingeing phase has gone on far too long. So I’m quitting. Out loud. Not here. If I stopped being awful here too, then I’d have nowhere to be awful and I’d get awfully wound up and that. And go awfully insane in the membrane. But I am not going to bitch about people unnecessarily anymore: some people shouldn’t take up this much room in my brain, let alone in my day-to-day conversations. So, farewell bitterness. It was nice knowing you, fun while it lasted and all that.

They say that a change is as good as a rest. They’re right, whoever they are (perhaps my mother and her fellow philosophers). For a while, I’ve been a pent up ball of rage and woes and negativity. Somehow, with one small (not even self-induced) alteration in my life, things are beginning to unfold in a much calmer and a much more agreeable way. I’m calmer. Less tense.

Things are still difficult, but I’m willing to embrace all of this terrible terribleness in lieu of knowing that one day things will be amazing and good and lovely all over again. And that is a nice feeling, that acceptance.

I feel like a weight has been lifted. How cliché. But true. I feel… different. (:

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Headache Day.

I have a dizzying headache. A sit down before you fall down kind of headache. I don’t like it.

I have some things I’d like to say to the world at large in an anonymous, passive-aggressive kind of way. (And I have no problem admitting that this is what it is.)
Here goes…

1. Perhaps some day you could listen to my problems without referring back to your own and giving yourself stupid advice (under the pretence of giving me advice that I blatantly don’t need). That sort of thing is very boring now. It used to be sort of amusing. But it’s borderline irritating at this stage. And that’s being generous, by the way.

2. Stop talking to me and expecting an answer. I’m not going to talk to you. I don’t miss you. You are stupid and bumbling and idiotic and I fear I may go insane if I ever have to hold a conversation with you again. Stop thinking that we’re okay when you can’t even genuinely apologise to my face.

3.
You pretty much used and abused, didn’t you? You know it and I know it. But it doesn’t bother me as much as it should. Because maybe I was doing the same thing, almost unbeknownst to myself. Almost. Anyway, I’m sorry you had to witness the Emma Norris of these last few months. Not a pretty sight, clearly. Then again, if you didn’t want to wait around to see the better me then maybe you aren’t worth these thoughts anyway.

4.
Wanker.

5.
Why do I still care? Why won’t you just vanish? Not from real life, just from my head and my memories. I’m not able for these memories. They will surely be my end.

6.
I absolutely despise how obvious you are. Do you not understand that your literary references are pretty easy to interpret and that the whole world knows who you’re talking about? Me included. But you don’t care because I can’t prove anything. I used to think you were so sweet but it’s obvious now that you and your friends will do anything you see as necessary to get what you want, regardless of who you hurt. And you obviously don’t mind that you broke my heart twice and continue to tug on my heartstrings every time I read one of your stupid sentiments on the internet. And I sincerely hope you’re reading this and know that I’m talking to/about you. You deserve this. And what goes around, comes around, etc. You deserve whatever you get.

7.
He doesn’t like you. He never really did. He was using you all along. You could have been anyone. I wish you knew that. Then maybe you wouldn’t be so smug. You think you’re one of the boys and you think they all respect you for it. They don’t. You’re ugly. And hairy. Go away. Please.

8. I love you. You have made these last few months so much easier and I’m forever indebted to you. How understanding you are, how sweet. I know you’re always looking out for me and that means so much. I hope you know that if you ever needed me, I’d be there in a heartbeat.

Monday, November 09, 2009

Somewhat Cheerful Emma.

More Sudocreme and Vaseline and water and Stewart Lee and new jammies and bed and a somewhat productive evening (in fact, the most productive I’ve had in a while) and a nap and feeling a lot more relaxed than I have in quite a while.

Tension is a terrible thing. I am glad it has dissipated. I’m beginning to like my life. And I like the idea of it being my life and mine alone and stuff. It’s sort of exciting. I feel good. I feel really good. Even about school. Wow.

Chemistry trip tomorrow. I actually hate Chemistry this year. History test tomorrow. I did not study. At all. I don’t even have the sheet I’m supposed to be memorising. Fuck it. Also, changed my mind completely about my special topic. Meaning that I’m probably in for a bollocking tomorrow, especially since I passed Ms Doherty in the hall today and smiled obliviously when I really should have pulled her aside and gone, ‘Listen…’ Darn it. She’ll hit me. No, she won’t. I’m lying. But still. I do feel a bit guilty. But not so guilty that I’m inclined to do anything about it this hour of the night.

I wrote a complete Irish story tonight without pausing to complain. This is a major feat. I rarely do Irish homework and never on time. This is a breakthrough in my academic life. Hoorah and stuff…

I’m in one of those ‘I love everything’ moods. I am made all the more giddy by Russell Howard presenting Live at the Apollo. Love it.

Crap blog post, innit? Still though, happiness is priceless.

‘A bacon sandwich is bread giving a dead pig a cuddle’.

Sunday, November 08, 2009

QuikLunch. QuikBlog.

Sometimes a ‘beauty regime’ has to be reduced to Vaseline, Sudocreme and lots of water. This is hard to admit. But easy polish a diamond and all that. Also, shiny clean teeth and new jammies. QI XL and blogging. My life is good.

Getting a camera for Christmas, hopefully. This makes me happy. I don’t have nearly enough photos of my friends.

I love my friends. If you only knew the half of it. Amy and I have our disagreements. I think this is because we both have such strong and stubborn personalities: sometimes we clash. But I know (and she has proven, countless times) that if I need her, she is there. Today Amy ran up her darling family’s phonebill to remind me about the power of emails and about how some people are cunts, simply put. I love her so much. :’)

Needless to say, JG, AH and KO’D are equally amazing and I have also found an open and lovely ear in the Tipp traitor, TC. People really are so good. Gahh, in such a sentimental mood now…

X Factor results tonight. I actually felt like crying when Lucie got sent home. Against Jedward, of all people. Simon Cowell is an evil man. He could have easily sent the twins home. He knew full well that they would have gotten more votes off the public purely because they’re a novelty act and a joke and a farce (and a sad excuse for human beings)… I hate X Factor now, I really do.

Umm. That’s about it for now, I think.

Oh, also, considering UL now for next year. Surprised? No? I don’t care. I know I’m predictable and obvious and shallow (or something), but fuck it. S’my life, innit? S’now or never.

Must stop saying ‘innit’.

‘Byee. x

Innit that it could be worse?

I’ll live. I’ve survived so far. One more minor bump. Life goes on. Plenty more fish in the sea, etc.

There are a thousand and one things I wish I could say here but I won’t. I wouldn’t do it to you or me.

Here’s to starting afresh, independence and looking after #1. Etc.

Innit that the story of my life is that I’m a little bitch but I mean well?

Relationships are weird. And terrifying. And not always in the good way. Rarely in the good way, in fact.

Distractions and relaxations. Yes, please.

No alcohol. No, thank you.

Christopher’s 21st birthday party soon though. Drama and cocktail sausages. Should be interesting.

I love my new coat and my new boots and things could be a lot worse.

Everything will fall right into place.

Homework and dinner and shower and a nice film. Yes yes. That’s a plan. (:

BK.

Every time we kiss
it's like an inside joke
I always miss.
Our love is like a tug-of-war.
Don't touch me, girl,
I can't hug no more!

Thursday, November 05, 2009

Talking.

Sixth Year is exhausting. I dread to think how it would feel if I was actually doing any work. Ughh. Relationships are becoming taut and are being pulled in all sorts of directions and I don’t know if they’re going to hold all that well this year. And I really am sorry.

I love new friends who feel like old friends.

I loved that woman from Coolgreany House who phoned me earlier. She restored my faith somewhat in the competence of the HSE in dealing with mental health issues. What a good girl.

Some conversations are just not worth having but I always force them. It’s almost funny how I never change in these situations. I still push the same awkward small-talk, hoping to reap some sort of joy from it. But I never, ever do. I don’t know what to do instead though. I am not cool. I am not aloof. I am not, y’know, modern.
Oh please don't, please don't speak
You'll kill the mystique
Oh baby let's not, let's not dance
We'll ruin our chances
Oh, in between the drinks
I can't help but think that
Even as we speak
We kill the mystique.

Wednesday, November 04, 2009

Routine, Music and Our Day in Cork.

I feel like I should make some sort of effort to be in bed and asleep before two in the morning at least once this week. Bloody exhausted. I don’t know what my beef is lately. I’m not able to get into any kind of routine. Well, I have. But it’s a bad one. Need a good one. I keep promising myself ‘next week…’ But I don’t know what the likelihood is of me actually adhering to whatever rules I enforce on myself. But I will make a good effort next week. Promise.

I’ve been listening to music on shuffle a lot lately and really enjoying the variety. This isn’t like me, letting the computer or the mp3 player decide what I ought to listen to. But there you go. Sort of like relenting some control. Which is sometimes very nice. (At the moment: Vampire Weekend.)

Went to Cork today to see A Doll’s House. It was such a lovely day. It was exciting and intriguing to see how other people would interpret what was essentially our Transition Year and essentially our play. I thought that the acting was brilliant and that delightful Nora Helmer didn’t annoy me at all. I really did feel sorry for her and I felt sorry for Torvald too (my peculiarly male on-stage counterpart). The acting really did convey the completely dysfunctional relationship between the two and it made me see both of them in a different way than I had when we were in the throes of our version nearly two years ago. Maybe that’s me growing up as well, being able to understand relationships that little bit more.


It was slightly bizarre for us watching the scenes on stage because, for a while, those characters had been an extension of ourselves. I was Torvald Helmer, like. Teresa was Nora. She just was. She was ditzy and deceitful and loyal to her husband. For the first half an hour or so of the day, Lisa Lambe was not Nora Helmer; she was some imposter in Teresa’s place. But I warmed to her blonde little porcelain face eventually and she really did do a wonderful job. She was no Teresa Phelan, but she brought something to the table.
Gahh, I’m too tired for further (crappy) dissection of the play, but suffice it to say it was great.




Also;
Penneys in Cork is pretty much the finest institution I’ve ever had the honour to step inside. Gold beret, fancy scarf (for a none-too-shabby one yo-yo) and a 50c yellow belt each for me and Kate. That was my lunch money spent. But Tayto crisps and chicken sandwiches on the bus made it all okay and very much worth it.

And: Fintan O’Mahony is such a cutie. Today was nice because it was just our class. Fintan’s English class. It was, I don’t know, like we were bonding. And look at him at the end: it was ‘a pleasure’ to bring us off for the day. He loves us, he really does.

Tuesday, November 03, 2009

ugg.

I’d love to know what I’ve done wrong because, honestly, I’m oblivious. Make up your stupid little mind. You must think I’m forcing this. But I’m not. It’s called conversation. Not interested? Then you’re not interested in me. So go away. Off with you. You’ll be sorely missed, etc., etc. But it’s for the best, etc.

Passive aggressiveness/ aggression ftl.

Monday, November 02, 2009

Strange and Beautiful.

I've been watching your world from afar,
I've been trying to be where you are,
And I've been secretly falling apart, unseen.

To me, you're strange and you're beautiful,
You'd be so perfect with me but you just can't see,
You turn every head but you don't see me.

I'll put a spell on you,
You'll fall asleep and I'll put a spell on you.
And when I wake you,
I'll be the first thing you see,
And you'll realise that you love me.

Sometimes, the last thing you want comes in first,
Sometimes, the first thing you want never comes,
And I know that waiting is all you can do sometimes.

I'll put a spell on you,
You'll fall asleep,
I'll put a spell on you,
And when I wake you,
I'll be the first thing you see,
And you'll realise that you love me.

I'll put a spell on you,
You'll fall asleep ‘cause I'll put a spell on you,
And when I wake you,
I'll be the first thing you see,
And you'll realise that you love me, yeah...

Sunday, November 01, 2009

Yet Another Hangover.

I’m hungover. Or maybe just tired. I don’t know. Last night was strange. I’m using that word a lot lately. Because everything feels strange and wrong. But not wrong in a catastrophic way. Just in a way that means the whole world is slightly off balance or slightly moved to the left or something. But it’s not right. It all feels very uncomfortable and very strange.

But right now at this moment in time, it could feel a whole lot worse. Things will get better. They have to. I won’t be in this situation forever. I can’t be. I refuse to be. Things will change again. The wheels of fortune keep turning and that…

I’m clean and my room is clean and Windows Media Player is on shuffle and I refuse to feel guilty about the sheer mountain of homework I ought to be doing now. Life is far too short (and only getting shorter) for me to beat myself up about something that I’m fully capable of resolving at a later date. The homework can wait, I need a nap and a stab at recovery.

I’m not going to drink again. I know I say that a lot but I do mean it this time. I’m not able to contend with those dreary feelings at the best of times, let alone when I’m filled with Bulmers and watching other people’s conversations unfold in the nicest possible way. So never again. Or at least not for a few months anyway. Cidona in the meantime, thanks very much.

I talked to Raymond last night on Skype for three or four hours. It was strange. I’ve known him for three years and we’d never talked before last night. It was weird. It was lovely. It was a milestone. <3

In other news, my comb has gone on the missing list. I’m also hungry and feeling vulnerable and have a headache that would take down a terrorist. My poor tummy too. Think I’ll watch X Factor in a bit. Missed it last night. Hope it was good.

I sort of miss Daniel. We had nice conversations. He seemed like a nice boy. Wise and arty and a complete sweetheart. But there are some people in the world who are only interested in your misery because it makes their lives seem comparatively better. If you’re anything other than depressed and low, they’re not listening. In fact, if they’re anything like Daniel, they’re resentful and call you a cunt and tell you that your family hates you. Why do I miss this boy? :/ Ughh.

Cuddles, please. Thank you kindly.

Tea and bread would go down nicely now, I think. Maybe a nap and some German afterwards. Jolly good.

Farewell.

x

Random Thoughts.

I had blisters on my feet, but don’t worry – I destroyed them. Now I just have raw pink skin where previously was saggy white skin. Fear not, it shall be replenished.

I am too drunk to type. I am too drunk for anything. Including purple box antics. Which is a good thing considering the sheer number of people to whom I’ve promised that I’d be a good girl. It is a disease, rather than an illness, the whole thing.

What I wouldn’t give to rewind time. If you only knew the half of it.

Actually, I’m not sure that if at this stage it might not be easier to just fast-forward time. I like to think that things would still end up the same way. I really wish they would. I might be happy then. If only because my wish would have been granted.

But I might never be happy. Which is fine too. Maybe I’m not supposed to be. Not in this life anyway. Perhaps in the next one. I hope so, I really do. What I wouldn’t give to feel genuinely happy again.

I worry you. I really worry you. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to. I want to blend into the background murmuring about something inconsequential. But it’s just not me. Well, the ‘inconsequential’ bit is. But not the blending into the background. I talk far too much to ever allow myself to be ignored. Which is an affliction. And I can guarantee that I’m not the only person who thinks so. Sometimes I seriously wish that I was completely irrelevant.

Not that it matters this hour of the night, but my hair feels really soft.

SW, you are one of the nicest girls I know and I hope you know that. Your hugs and your astonishingly soft hands are both forces to be reckoned with. I really adore you.

And JG.. There just aren’t the words. I love you dearly.

Some initials aren’t so ambiguous (or at least innocent) and there are a lot of things I want to say to people right now. But I have to force myself to understand that the things I say will never, ever make a difference. The situation is as it will always be: shit. And I wish it wasn’t. I’d give anything for one more stab at the whole thing..

My apologies to Helena for calling her ‘Lisa’ at least ten times tonight. I have come to the grim conclusion that I’m crap with names.

It’s raining. I’m sneezing. I need orange juice and something sweet to eat. I also need a cuddle but that thirst won’t be satisfied any time soon. Though I’m apparently the only person on the planet whom that bothers. Which sort of slightly breaks my heart.

That’s not a difficult thing to do lately, break my heart. Have the best of intentions and you’ll still probably do it. Fuck it, I’m breaking my heart on an almost daily basis as it is. And it doesn’t half sting.

Love really is a strange thing. Some days I think I get it, other days I just don’t. End of.

But I just want comp’ny. Hours and hours and hours of company, please. Then we’ll call it even and I won’t ask for anything else. Ever again. Thank you.