Wednesday, June 30, 2010

/

.

Everything that happens is from now on.

It's hard to find it when you knew it
When your money's gone
And you're drunk as hell.

This is not the sound of a new man or crispy realization.
It's the sound of the unlocking and the lift away.
Your love will be
Safe with me.

mini upd8.

Here is a picture of my new wall:



(The creative juices are flowing but only because I’m forcing them to. You wouldn’t believe how much Blu-Tack I used.)

This has been a strange week.

I have been drunk more often than I’ve been sober. I have ordered a new t-shirt on the internet – typography which very accurately describes my life. I have made a new wall. I have watched TV. (The Mighty Boosh. I don’t know if it made me feel better or worse.)

There’s more to say but I’m waiting. Waiting for information, encouragement and, I don’t know, reciprocation.

Also, I’m torn between ginger and blonde. I miss both. I do not like blending in.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

this helped.

(It still does.)
Hey,
Don't write yourself off yet:
It's only in your head you feel left out
Or looked down on.
Just try your best,
Try everything you can,
And don't you worry what they tell themselves
When you're away.

It just takes some time,
little girl, you're in the middle of the ride.
Everything, everything will be just fine,
Everything, everything will be alright.

Hey,
You know they're all the same.
You know you're doing better on your own
So don't buy in.
Live right now.
Yeah, just be yourself.
It doesn't matter if it's good enough
For someone else.

Hey,
Don't write yourself off yet:
It's only in your head you feel left out
Or looked down on.
Just do your best,
Do everything you can,
And don't you worry what their bitter hearts
Are gonna say.

hmmmm.

I sent the email and I got H to send the text. I’m hoping it will make some sort of difference, once and for all. But, honestly, I’m terrified that it won’t. I know it won’t. And I have no idea what I’ll do then. I’ll probably keep trying but – let’s face it – eventually I’m going to have to realise that my trying is futile.

I get myself caught up in so many strange situations. Mostly through boredom. Right now, my foot hurts and I’m too warm and my brain is going a million miles an hour. It’s been forever, hasn’t it? But we fit together so perfectly.

New slang when you notice the stripes,
the dirt in your fries.
Hope it's right when you die, old and bony.
Dawn breaks like a bull through the hall,
Never should have called
But my head's to the wall and I'm lonely.



Monday, June 28, 2010

yohjokhkjgfgh.

Everything is all wrong. I would make art but what would be the point? I am doing it all wrong. I am fat and I have horrible feet and I am weird and lonely and in love and infatuated and poor and sad. If I am who and what you want, then why don’t you want me?

“Because all the fighting and all the tears and all the uncertainty is worth it. And it's a hell of a lot better, than being 100% happy without someone to show us that there is a world of a difference between feeling 'happy' and feeling whole.”

Everything is wrong. I want things. I want money. I want my life to be more minimal. I thought that the freedom of summer would make me happy but, like every other summer, the thoughts of empty days stretched before me make my stomach lurch and my eyes water. I am not who I want to be. I am not where I want to be. And I am certainly not with whom I want to be with.

The sun is breaking through the clouds but it’s not making me feel any better. I understand you. You don’t surprise me anymore. I know you so well. Be here now.

I’m embarrassed about all the things I’ve ever thought, all the things I thought I wanted. I am so greedy. And so confused. I dreamt about him last night, and missed him. But it was just a dream.

I know what I want now. I am sure and certain and willing to do anything. But it doesn’t make a blind bit of difference.

ajnsgdfkjwmhd.

“Some people turn sad awfully young. No special reason, it seems, but they seem almost to be born that way. They bruise easier, tire faster, cry quicker, remember longer and, as I say, get sadder younger than anyone else in the world. I know, for I'm one of them.”

Sunday, June 27, 2010

you.

“I’m here. I love you. I don’t care if you need to stay up crying all night long, I will stay with you. There’s nothing you can ever do to lose my love. I will protect you until you die, and after your death I will still protect you. I am stronger than depression and I am braver than loneliness and nothing will ever exhaust me.”

“I have never loved another boy. I thought I did. I liked them. They kissed nicely and they smelt sweet and said lovely things. But they were not you. And I would not break my heart to fix theirs. But I would for you.”

Thursday, June 24, 2010

finished the LC, hungover, songs.

I haven’t been this hungover in a while. My whole body feels like it’s going into shutdown. And I have a snotty nose. And I’m hungry. And there’s quite a bit of last night that I don’t remember. And other bits I do. The kinds of things that make you go, ‘Oh shit’ when you wake up. There’s actually a few of those things. Shit.

(I also can’t type properly. This is taking way longer than it should.)

However, I am finally finished le gay Leaving Certificaté. Chemistry, as predicted, was a sombre affair. I worked out that the most I’ll get is 61%, which is a lot better than the Pre’s 30%. What is it, a C2? That’s fine, that’ll do. Considering I will be more than likely repeating, it is really immaterial.

I celebrated the culmination of the state exams by seeing my wonderful best friend on Tuesday night and by getting absolutely polluted last night with very little of my own alcohol/ money. Which I honestly do feel awful about. I am suffering now though: karma. But vodka and Club Lemon are a match made in Heaven. (Which rhymes. And goes to show how truly talented I am even in the wild throes of hungoverness. Ahem.)

I have no clothes. But I do have new facewash and Johnson’s Bedtime Oil, which smells amazing. You go to bed smelling like a baby. Wonderful. I wouldn’t risk it in the daytime ‘cause ya’d roast yourself and I am pretty paranoid about skin cancer. Also, there’s nothing worse than that red patch you get when you’re wearing a low-cut top. I get it every single year and it does my skull in. Do not want this year, thanks.

So yeah. No clothes. Last year’s stuff that doesn’t really fit as well as it did last year. And Operation Farewell Fatty isn’t going as well as I’d hoped, despite my two litres of water a day, no sweeties and brown bread. I don’t condone not eating but all I had yesterday was a bowl of Cornflakes and my belly doesn’t feel at all empty. Perhaps I am destined to be chubby for ever and ever. Oh well. (In terms of exercise, I went for a two mile walk Tuesday morning but I got blisters on my feet, which put me off exercise for the next while.)

I made a summer playlist. It makes me happy. Because I am in no humour to be typing out the names of all the lovely songs, here is a screenshot:



Yes, I know that I am way behind the times on most of these songs but I don’t care. I love them. And yes, I do use Media Player. I also love that.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

weekend.

So I had a strange weekend. You know those days where there’s this weird mixture of feelings? Like, one minute you desperately need a hug and the next, you’re doing spasticated dance moves with your mother. Maybe it’s PMT. Maybe it’s alcohol. Maybe it’s this distinct feeling that change is upon me and it could go either way. Because as much as I approve of me and how much my life has changed for the good, there are lots of days where I resent everything about myself. And, yeah, okay, maybe those days do coincide with the monthlies or nights out when I’ve had one sip of Bulmers too many, but I don’t know. Not nice feelings. Not nice thoughts.

And the only way I can think of to fix it is to be good. Brush my teeth at least twice a day, take off my make-up before I go to sleep, take my tablets as I should. I can’t get the balance right though. I find it very difficult to pretend to be normal. People would think there was something wrong with me anyway if I started talking about clothes and holidays and stopped complaining and occasionally bringing up rim-jobs. They’d know something was up.

You know what’s funny? This isn’t me being conceited or anything (except that it is), but I don’t think anyone else finds me as funny as I find me. I mean, my friends don’t find rim-jobs all that humorous. Hmm. I think that came out wrong. They don’t find talking about rim-jobs all that humorous. Whereas I do.

Life is strange.

Friday, June 18, 2010

german & other recent things.

German today was fine. I went out with Betty and RHJ last night and by the time I got home and had a shower, it was time to go to bed. So no studying. (Not that there would have been anyway – I go out of my way to find distractions.) But German was okay. The short Außerungs were a bit weird and I barely had an iota of a clue of what was going on in the first reading comprehension, but otherwise it was grand. Tape was grand too. For once in my life I understood what the phonecall/ problem thing was. Hoorah. And just one exam left. Chemistry, I cannot wait to see you, babes.

I am genuinely getting bored of doing exam posts and I reckon you’re bored of reading them but I’m in the habit of it now and it makes for good, meaty discussion(?). However, I will digress and tell you some other news:

I cleaned my room today, in celebration of finishing my penultimate exam. The kind of clean where you pull out the wardrobe from the wall and hoover up the dust monsters what were begot behind there. I also took down all my flashcardy notey thingies from the walls. You know, German words I wanted to learn (some of which I happily risked today), and that bastardin’ sheet of Starke Verben. (People who do German will feel my pain. Congratulations if you managed to learn that list of irregular verbs ‘cause I certainly couldn’t. The grammar bit of the paper was okay though, those verbs were pretty guessable.)

Anyway, my room is sheeny and shiny and new. By comparison, I’m pretty filthy. (Can’t have a shower yet though ‘cause I have to answer the door to my mother’s friend and God knows she will ring the doorbell the very second I turn on the shower. So I’m sitting pretty. And smelly.)

I bought new make-up today. At €14.99, it’s the most expensive make-up I’ve ever owned. I’m excited. I feel fancy. I also bought my regular moisturiser: Nivea Visage Rich Moisturising Day Cream. The richness is great. It’s for dry and sensitive skin and I swear by it. My face is getting better, if you’re wondering. Got wonderful cream off the wonderful Dr Richard which took away the tomato-face pretty instantly. I still have the odd spot but my lovely sister robbed the Sudocrem. Can’t win ‘em all.

I’m attending a 60th birthday party tomorrow night which should be a howl. It’s a family thing but it’s not my family so it’s okay. I get to wear a dress and maybe even have a nice face (maybe even shave my legs) for the first time in what feels like a very, very long time. Nothing like state exams to make you feel like a knacker, wha’? Anyone else just looking forward to putting actual effort into how you look after this blasted LC? Or is it just me who’s given up on personal hygiene etc.? (Not personal hygiene – I do wash, like. That was just for hyperbole’s sake, you know?)

This is about the extent of what’s going on in my life right now, I think. I am in a good mood. This is in wild contrast to yesterday when I was in a fouler. I am listening to Regina Spektor and she is beautiful. I am looking forward to having a shower and putting on my jammies and getting into my clean bed. Simple pleasures.

(I feel I have ended this post in a less-than-hilarious way, so I’ll tell you another quick anecdote: I have a wound. The end.)

Thursday, June 17, 2010

LC update.

History yesterday was an uncertified disaster. (But I’m applying to have it certified. And me canonised.) It was a lovely paper, had I studied, and everyone I spoke to enjoyed it. However, I have an immense hatred of History and found even sitting in the exam hall infuriating. I love History really. I find it interesting, I really do. I liked History class, I liked hearing about all the stuff what happened before, but I could never bring myself to do my homework, never mind write a full essay. Or learn things. So I answered everything on the document question bar the contextualisation (and even though I was full sure Sunningdale was coming up, I still didn’t look over it). I also did the Economic Boom for America, a completely risked and waffling account about how loads of new jobs were created. This effort, coupled with the research study, might actually mean I’ll pass History. Though I doubt it.

Art today was nice. Again, ten times better if I’d studied. Which I didn’t. But Cézanne came up in European Art. I didn’t like him when we did him (in fact, I’m sure I hated him, but I have no idea why) so it’s astounding really that I remembered as much as I did. Although, Ms Walsh was borderline obsessed with the man and was forever singing his praises so that probably explains that. Sadly Newgrange did not come up in Irish Art, breaking its pattern of appearing every two years, and probably breaking everyone’s hearts in the process. I did the bit on St Patrick’s Bell-Shrine and the Lismore Crosier and did my other bit on the Cross of Cong, though I didn’t remember its name at the time. Art Appreciation was pretty dismal, it has to be said. All weird, specific questions. Banksy came up though, which was nice.

Just German in the morning and Chemistry on Tuesday. It will be a miracle if I survive the latter.

so long, academia!

I want to go to Yankland. I want to have nice dresses. I miss my nice skin. People used to come from miles around to admire my skin. I miss that. I want nice feet. I want to stop at my fingers. I want to not have this perpetual headache, this constant lethargy, this unease. Let these exams pass by in a blur, please. I am so very, very tired of them. I want to cry. Not because I’m going to get such woeful results in August, but because I honestly don’t care anymore and they are just draining me completely.

I don’t know what I want to do with my life. Maybe I want to write. Maybe I want to work in the wireless. I don’t know. Is it wrong to not be all that interested? A job is just a job. I know that you will spend most of your time doing that job but I don’t know. I think I will prefer life outside work. Family. Friends. Relaxing. Adventures. Most people don’t like their job. I don’t mind. Well, actually, I don’t know if I mind, if I will mind. I have no idea what I’m talking about.

The LC has me driven utterly insane. My body and brain are in meltdown mode. I want out. Thanks but no thanks, academia. We’ve had a good run but I’m quite full: I’m going to go take my chances with illiteracy and the great outdoors. By which I mean the great proverbial outdoors. Life and that.

Are there any vacancies for poets in the current economic climate?

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

life after the leaving.

When the LC is done I will sleep lots. I will nurse my poor skin back to health with the dedication and commitment that I am sadly unable to give it now. I will fix my feet. I will consume lots of alcohol. I will purchase good make-up and summer clothes and sandals. I will exercise and drink nineteen litres of water a day. I will gut my room and do a new arty thing on the walls. (‘Minimal meets Pervert’ will probably be the theme.) I will bring those books back to the library. I will get new books to read. I will learn to bake a chocolate cake.

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

word cloud.

Word Cloud

A word cloud based on the words I use in my blog. Seems fairly positive on the whole. Yes, it is in the shape of a pear. I like pears.

irish paper two and other things.

I’m feeling pretty rotten today. With only three subjects out of the way in the LC, I’m not even halfway. The easy ones are done, leaving me nothing to hide behind, totally exposed to all the rotten ones which I, rather bizarrely, chose to do: History tomorrow, then Art on Thursday, German on Friday, a three day weekend (in which I may or may not need alcohol), followed by Chemistry on Tuesday. Finally. Then all’s well that ends well. I know I said I wouldn’t mind repeating if it came down to it but I’ve changed my mind. Never again, please. I told my mother this morning that if I didn’t get into a college, I’d go on the game. She didn’t even laugh, she just said, ‘Ah, don’t do that anyway’.

Irish Paper Two today was only okay. Considering I’d done none of the revision I promised to do yesterday (since, due to lethargy, I went straight to sleep after a sandwich, lasagne and tea), the exam could have gone a lot worse. I did An Bhean Óg and Faoiseamh a Gheobhadsa without complaint, remembering bits and pieces about áit dhúchais and that. When I had to choose between Lig Sinn i gCathú, Clare sa Spéir and Fiche Bliain ag Fás though, I balked. I risked a paragraph on how Lig Sinn i gCathú was about university life. I stated that Máirtín spent his scholarship cheque on drink, like every other university student. Also, he got on well with the doirseoir and he happened to be on his way to, er, get his scholarship cheque. For the poetry, there was no avoiding Gealt? unfortunately. Unfortunately for me since I’d still been in Honours when the Pass class had done it and I’d never bothered to do much more than transcribe the notes neatly into my copy (we’d been doing Gealt? at the time in Honours too but as I subsequently dropped back to Pass, it’s fairly obvious I wasn’t doing much in the line of paying attention). For this question, I essentially took lines from the poem and stuck them in for support when I said that one of the main emotions in Gealt? was fear. A pretty crap answer, it has to be said.

I left that exam early, refusing to sit and weep about information I did not have. I’d already been in a poor mood due to my hideous face and the lethargy that has still not disappeared despite my ten hours of sleep last night. Since I’ve been home, I’ve tidied my room, made an amazing sandwich (BLT, nom) and very nearly prepared myself to fail History. Which I will. Well, no, I won’t. The project is 20% and I’m sure I did okay on that (in fact, I surprised myself with how well I think it read). I’m going to condense my revision to something about Russia, something about Germany, Cummann na nGael and something about America. And by something, I literally mean one thing. Possibly just a piece of trivia about Stalin’s favourite food or something.

Monday, June 14, 2010

leaving cert update.

So Maths Paper Two was today. I loved it. I did my five questions from Section A and my one question from Section B, no more, no less. I’m happy with how I answered the questions, was able to do every bit of every question with no bizarre answers obtained. It was nice. I’d have stayed at  it for the day. Pass Maths at the start of Fifth Year was possibly the best decision of my academic career. Ooh, baby.

After a lengthy lunch during which I consumed an obscene amount of food (to stave off scurvy and depression), Irish Paper One. Being Ordinary Level, it was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. Standard reading comprehensions and do-able stories and letters. I wrote the story about how I brought my friend on holidays and she did my skull in ‘cause she did nothing but be ag gearán*. Most other people in my class seemed to have done the first story of when the ball was coming towards them and their heart was leaping for joy. Almost all of them got a slap of it in the face though and ended up in hospital with a broken nose. Which is clever. I wouldn’t even have thought to twist it like that. All I considered was that I had no knowledge of ‘sport’ vocab. Neither do I have knowledge of ‘injury’ vocab though. So I brought my friend, Róisín, to Nua Eabhrac and she complained about everything. So I used the last of my money to buy her a plane ticket back to Ireland. When I saw her off, I told her, ‘Níl aon tinteán mar do thinteán féin’. Which I thought was pretty amusing.

My litir was about how the parentals had opened a B&B and I was working in the kitchen. I risked that I’d made lasange last night with vegetables(!) and chips. I also proudly used the vocab I’d learned last week telling my friend (Máire, I think I called her) that mholfainn that she put her application in ‘cause dearfainn that they’d give her a seans. All’s well that ends well on Páipéar a hAon.

The Tape Test was reasonable. Again, pretty routine stuff. No weird names to spell or anything like that.
For a day that went so well exam-wise, my poor face is telling a different story. I told you about the spots, yeah? They seem to be getting better (lots of water, no fringe) but now my face has turned a particularly devastating shade of aubergine. I look like a beetroot in a school uniform. I look sunburned. Which is hilariously ironic since I don’t know when I last saw daylight (today, lunchtime, whatever). I’d simply look flushed except that it’s on my forehead as well. Stress, I know. Right now, though, I am twice as stressed out about my face than I have been about my exams up to now. And I am fresh out of old wives’ tales and home-made cures so if anyone has any suggestions for a stressed-out, tomato-faced, oily-and-dry-skinned girl, please share.

I am off to wash and consume more water (it will be a wonder if I don’t drown), learn some poems and achoimre and have an early night.

*Apologies to those who don’t understand Irish for the admittedly ridiculous amount of it in this post. I am in the zone.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

a passive-aggressive type post.

1. I know you’ve lost all respect for me. Ya know when ya just know? I have that. And, honestly, I don’t blame you one bit. I just wish I could go back and do everything a little bit differently. I don’t know if it would make much of a difference. We’d never again be the way we used to be. Although maybe I’m idealising it in my brain. We were never that good. Still, I do love you.

2. I don’t know why I ever liked you. I mean, I do. You were unattainable. Which is why I like most boys really. But now you’re hopelessly attainable and I am hopelessly uninterested. Sorry.

3. I dreamt about you. That would be a nice situation. If we could actually talk. But you really do hate me. And I have no idea why. Hmm.

4. I miss you like whoa. I miss seeing you and hanging out with you. As soon as this Table Quiz is over, picnic on Vinegar Hill, please?

In other news, I drank two litres of water yesterday as well as lots of orange juice and coffee. As you can imagine, I spent quite a lot of yesterday on the ceramic throne as a result. It’s early days (about 24 hours) so the spots haven’t exactly disappeared quite yet but I’m confident that, y’know, one day…

Also, I have to worky-work today since I didn’t yesterday (because of mini illness which has since – thankfully – disappeared). Not looking forward to it. Must find time to revise Linear Programming and Trig for tomorrow. And maybe some interesting phrases for my litir. I made a point last week to learn how to say ‘I would like alcoholic drinks in the company of my friends’. A very useful phrase by all accounts. That is to say, mine.

Saturday, June 12, 2010

the sixth year stone and other sources of distress.

The Sixth Year Stone I’ve come to terms with. I am not alone. It even happened to my skinny friend (though, as if to purposely irritate me, you’d never guess to look at her). I’m fine. It happened and I can make it unhappen. That is absolutely fine. On a more disturbing note, you could do join-the-dot drawings on my forehead, such is the extent of my spottiness.

Seriously. It’s hideous. My skin has always been my Go-To Guy when I want to make myself feel nice about my otherwise mediocre (at best) appearance. And now it’s gone to poo and merde. Of course, my compulsive need for a fringe probably has a lot to do with it. Blocking pores and the like. So ta-ta, Fringey! I’ll see you again when my forehead decides to right itself. Until then, no more fringeyness and plenty of water and fruit. And sandpaper off the dead skin what is present. Or is that too extreme?

Also, my nails are very weak lately. So I sort of possibly maybe chewed ‘em off altogether yesterday evening while watching Garden State. Oh well. I’m going to paint them yellow. They will be short but charming. And cheerful.

As if to add insult to injury to my poor dilapidated body, I am ill. Not even hungover. But snotty nosed and sneezy. Eww. My immune system has also gone to poo and merde this year, though not half as much as some of my usually very healthy friends and it’s them I feel sorry for. This Leaving Cert thing really takes the good out of ya.

On a hugely unrelated note, I miss my blonde hair. As soon as this nightmarish and mammoth table quiz is done, I’m going ginger. It is my birthright.

a little story.



This photo pretty much sums up my life. Taken about three years ago, I haven’t changed one bit. You will still find me drinking cider on the floor in a corner somewhere. And happy to be there. Despite my drunken stupidity, I think I look alright here. (Probably because the picture’s blurry.) This was when we used to go to Zoo. I was sixteen. Think it was around Christmas. Before Christmas really. I’d been kicked out of the house. I got very drunk that day and wept somewhat uncontrollably that night on the way back from the gig. You know what’s funny? The person who looked after me then, the person who told me it was okay to cry? I don’t even talk to them anymore. And that really helped, them holding me and telling me that it was okay to be sad.

Wednesday, June 09, 2010

the beginning of the end: english paper one.

Our passions are like convulsion fits, which, though they make us stronger for a time, leave us the weaker ever after. Alexander Pope.

(This quote is completely irrelevant for this post but I do quite like it so there it is.)

So the Leaving Cert started today. The beginning of the end or something. I’m trying to keep other things off my mind. Scarily, it’s working but this does mean that I’m only thinking of exams and how catastrophically I’m going to fail them. I genuinely have no problem repeating though. Easy-goin’, boi.

English Paper One suited me. I believe in miracles. The theme was ‘The Future’. I’m a fan of the future and the paper was actually sort of interesting. My Question A was some comprehension questions on Seamus Heaney which I left to the end and never finished. I don’t mind though since I’m utterly crap at them anyway. My Question B was really something special: a short radio talk about the importance/ impact of books in my life. Love love love. This question was made for me. I basically wrote out my life story, from reading the back of the carton of milk as a tot, to learning the Wizard of Oz off by heart (I can still remember the opening line: ‘once upon a time in Kansas…’), to how books like ‘The Perks of Being a Wallflower’ changed my life. Seriously.

My essay was a little less appreciated. I did the first one, something about ‘terrific theatrics’ and let on I was an actress. I had some pretty killer phrases, I have to admit. I also let on that all actors were insane. I sort of believe that though. I think that if you’re creative at all, you have to be a little divorced from reality. I’m creative and I firmly believe that I am a bit touched in the brain. But I think it makes things more interesting. Hmm.

Paper Two tomorrow. Hate to abuse the English language at such an inappropriate time but I am fucked.

For the rest of you sitting the Leaving Cert this year, hope you found today’s paper okay and that the rest of the exams suit you as well, innit. Best of luck, kids. x

Sunday, June 06, 2010

story of my life.

with all your lies, you’re still very lovable.

This is greedy. I almost had you convinced. I like to think I did. And that’s something. It was a nice feeling while it lasted, having you almost convinced. I thought it was an impossibility. But maybe not.

There is too much awkward thought floating around in my brain right now. Too awkward to make into coherent sentences. Too awkward to be vague and ambiguous. So I’ll avoid the Serious Stuff here until I can figure out what I’m going to do about the Serious Stuff in real life. Suffice it to say that, yes, I do lead a bizarre life but it is exciting. And I may get myself into ridiculous and stupid situations but… Well, I don’t know what the ‘but’ is there. Things are never boring, at least.

You are the only person with whom I actually feel, you know? I feel safe enough to cry with you. Even though I know that every time I do cry, I ruin us by another degree or so. But whatever. It is nice to feel human and vulnerable sometimes.

Sometimes I think I am desensitised, I really do. I don’t know when I last cried. I suppose I don’t have anything to cry about though. My life is good. Like, as good as it gets without me being a glutton. Which, let’s face it, I am – constantly wanting something more, usually something wildly unobtainable, like some person who’s just not interested.

I suppose I must have quite low self-esteem to act the way I do sometimes. But I am only human. And maybe other people look at me and think I’m doing this human thing all wrong but all I have is my own head and my own personal experiences to go on. I am doing my best with my poorly-equipped brain.

All anyone wants is to be happy. Life is too short not to be. And I imagine that there are people who look at my life and criticise it and talk about how they would never act that way because they have a sense of decorum and morals and dignity and cop on and class and whatever. But I don’t think you can really judge anyone in that respect. No one wants to be a cunt. People are trying their best just to be alive and happy. And, personally, I have no idea what I’m doing most of the time. Occasionally, I stumble across something sweet and lovely but more often than not, I make a fool of myself. And I do things I regret later. And I drink too much. And I’m constantly looking for some sort of validation. In all the wrong places, naturally.

To be quite honest though, there’s not a lot I regret. Life is short. And all those mistakes do teach you stuff, even if it takes a couple of runs at the same mistake for me to learn my lesson. I have been fantastically selfish in the last few months but I think that you do need to indulge sometimes. At the end of the day, you have to look out for yourself. People will judge me, of course, but I think I just have that kind of personality: I’m looking for a certain kind of love except I don’t know exactly what kind of love it is. I’ll accept every offer until I find that love though, I won’t sit pretty and wait for that love to find me, like a sensible person might. I am a fool for love. I fall in love far too easily and I think that that is my hamartia. I’m okay with it though, even if the rest of the world isn’t. My intentions are good. And my attitude is positive. I don’t know if there’s much you could ask of a human being, you know?

I want to have my cake and eat it too. Because what’s the point in having cake if you can’t eat it?

Perhaps this was a much too honest post but it is two in the morning and I have had something of an epiphany tonight. Except that I’m as confused as ever. Or twice as confused. I can’t even tell. Hmm. I feel like I’ve been drinking but really I’ve only had a salad sandwich. I think I am delirious. Honestly.

Saturday, June 05, 2010

new shoes.



My lovely new white chocolate shoes from Ebay which ripped my two heels off and reduced my feet to bloody stumps but which are now broken in and are quite comfortable. Summer staple, I think. I love them.

Wednesday, June 02, 2010

things what i’ve been thinking.

So I’ve arranged all of my schoolbooks in order of subject so that there are seven neat piles under my window. This is very productive and I will get 500 points in the Leaving because of it. With a week to go, I’m not exactly as on top of the studying as I should be. But, I don’t know, some college will take me surely. Dundalk IT is down on the CAO now. For good measure. I’m not going to lie to you, I’m not totally sure where Dundalk is. It is because I am a bogger. I think  it’s near the Big Smoke but I would be lying if I said I was certain. Oh well.

New headphones from Tesco have me very excited about music all over again. (: Wild Beasts are a band you should look up. Sleepy and amusing.

Operation Farewell Fatty is off to something of a good start. Less carbohydrates and more exercise. I am liking this project. It’s a fool-proof plan that has worked in the past. It requires a level of commitment that I just can’t hack though. Hopefully I’ll look amazeballs for the Debs in August but after that? Winter insulation. Necessary and lovely.

I started thinking yesterday that some people spend their whole lives battling with their weight and they yo-yo up and down, sometimes bloated, other times lean.  Other people are astonishingly and naturally thin, without trying. Without even giving it thought. Maybe the way you are is the way you’re supposed to be. Some girls are bigger than others. Some girls’ mothers are bigger than other girls’ mothers. At the end of the day, do what makes you happy. Personally, I miss being energetic. Carbohydrates make you sluggish and while white bread is a sinful pleasure, it does mean I can’t jump over the garden wall as agilely as I could before. Which is the point.

I also started thinking yesterday (or the day before – I don’t remember) that things change. Time changes things. Scar tissue. New routines. A sleepy conscience. That searing heartache isn’t there anymore. Heartbreak is a strange institution. It isn’t fair, it isn’t even humane. And it is horrifically and tragically unavoidable. But it makes you tough. And I spent a long time not wanting to be tough. Part of me still wants to be naive and loving and hopeful and confident in every boy. But heartbreak is a milestone. And it’s part of life. And if you want out, go.

It’s hard to avoid clichés when all I really want to say is that life is wonderful. Tear-inducing lovely. And there’s all that nastiness that comes with it and you have to suck it up. Get on with it. Most of the time, I love my life, every bit of it. Even the bizarre and crappy bits. More and more, I’m learning to really just accept that life is sometimes beyond the Valley of Shit and into the Universe of the Perfectly Catastrophic. Like a lovely journey with a bit if turbulence now and again. And that turbulence makes for good stories later. And I live for telling those stories.

There is nothing sweeter than telling the long, lamentable tales of my misadventures to my friends and having them laugh their little arses off at the absurdity. Lovely. That makes the catastrophes almost seem worth it. Now I can nearly joke about a broken heart – I can at least joke about the (frankly innovative) ways in which I attempted to get over a broken heart. And that is nice. It’s nice that it doesn’t hurt like it used to. It’s nice to have my own little life and be content with that, be content with not sharing it. That awfulness brought a lovely thing: a new and now treasured outlook on life. On my life. It. Is. Good.

This quote is a wildly accurate and succinct translation of what I am trying to say:
“I like living. I have sometimes been wildly, despairingly, acutely miserable, racked with sorrow, but through it all I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.”