Tuesday, July 27, 2010

how will i ever get out of this labyrinth?

I think I spend my whole life accelerating towards a point of no return. Only the point isn’t a point – it’s a wall. And I keep crashing into it.

‘Emma, they’ll sign you in.’

Let them. I am insane anyway.

Consider this a hiatus.



Sunday, July 18, 2010

sxjgasjkx. sunday.

After a lovely fishy dinner and a shower and clean bed sheets and watching Dylan Moran, this is a nice Sunday. It’s half six. That’s good. I don’t like Sundays. The greater the speed with which they elapse, the happier I am.

I’ve gotten really into chocolate milk lately, which is awful.

I really do not want to go to my Debs. Like, really. It’s just too much like hard work. And I’m not anti-social, I’m really not. I am not one to turn down alcohol/ a night out/ a fancy dress, but this is just errrghh. Do not want. Also, boys are crap.

Emma, you’re impossible. You can sing that one, sunshine.


Saturday, July 17, 2010

some day you will be loved.

Maybe. But not now. Not for a long time, probably. And not by someone I want, you know? Because if they love me, I probably won’t love them.

I want what I can’t have. Or what (read ‘who’)  is oblivious to my existence.

Nothing was beautiful and everything hurt.

Thursday, July 15, 2010

today’s activities.

‘You know what’s wrong with you? You’re bored’.

You’re correct.

Material things shouldn’t make me happy but they do. New green nail-varnish and a skirt from the second-hand shop. It’s long and red and patterned. Since I cannot sew in a straight line, I’m getting Mummy Dearest to take the skirt up to knee-length or just above. Only €6. Happy out. I also tried on a lovely loose gold top thing which Mutti wouldn’t let me buy because it was too ‘flashy’. I don’t think she realises just how ostentatiously I like to dress.

I got a book from the library today. It’s called The Tiger That Isn’t. It’s about numbers and statistics. (Don’t ask.) It’s one of those books that makes complicated things like numbers and statistics easier to understand. You know, for the ordinary Joe Soap. (Or Jo Soap, in my case.) I really like books like that. (One of my favourite books is one called A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson. It’s science in laywoman’s terms. Which suits me perfectly.)

I also printed out a thousand CVs but I don’t know how successful they will be. I’m guessing ‘not very’. But we’ll see.

I went food shopping with Mutti today. I like doing that sometimes because I get to pick out things like washing-up liquid that smells like grapefruit. And green mouthwash. And green shower gel. (Green is my colour lately. I have no idea why.) I also picked out a devastatingly beautiful Black Forest Gateau cake which will completely thwart my plans to be a stick-thin superwoman. But no matter.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

next morning.

Watching New Moon on the Internet last night upset me, I think. All that drama and tension and those goodlooking people. Everyone was so poetic. And I want that. Which is stupid. ‘Cause real life isn’t like that. Boys aren’t like that. (Or else I have yet to meet one who is.) Boys in this town don’t look like Jacob Black or Edward Cullen. If they did, they’d know they did, and they’d be dickheads. And boys in this town aren’t that passionate. Though if they were, they’d be scary passionate and no one would want to be around them ‘cause we’d think they were stalkers or perverts.

Anyway, somehow, I do feel better today. I think it was the rejection that did it. For a second, it made me feel worse. Climbing back into bed and staying there forever seemed like a wonderful idea, and the only solution to the problem that is my life. But then, a second later, I felt better. It was the lightning bolt to the heart that I needed. I hate inertia. I would rather be angry than sad. And I’m more irate than either now. Which is better.

You let me down again. Wonderful you. The finality of your ‘no’ for something that really won’t matter in a year was a punch in the gut. Couldn’t you just humour me? Maybe I don’t want that though. I don’t want to be pitied. It shouldn’t be out of pity. You said, ‘Lovely’. Then what’s changed? It will still be lovely. You’ve changed.

Once upon a time you said, ‘I’m not there for you, Emma; I’m here for you’.

pretty eyes.

Sometimes I look okay. You know, in over-exposed photos of myself. Mostly I look like this. The way I look now. Just awful. And I feel awful. And I lied and said that it was mostly good, that I felt mostly good. Well, maybe it wasn’t a lie. But at times like this, on nights like this, when I feel awful, it feels as though I’ve never felt good. As though I’ve never been happy and I’ve never felt anything other than just awful.

I am Awful Emma. Everything feels wrong. I’m supposed to be the ‘most successful client’ but I’m not. I’m not cured. I still revert back to these awful thoughts when I can’t deal with the world properly. And I am so passive sometimes. I think that’s the worst part, lacking the energy or even the interest to do something – anything – that might get rid of that awful inertia (the inertia that is probably the cause of the whole thing in the first place). Going on a latenight adventure or opening up that God-awful purple tin box.

This is a pointless post. I’ve said it all before, through various analogies and metaphors. Perhaps I am just a loser with ‘a few big words’ but I’m not pretending to be happy. Because I’m saying it now: I’m not happy.

Right now, I am awful. Tomorrow will be better.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010


People will think whatever they want to think. If they want to think that I had carnal relations down the Rape Lane, they’re simply going to think that, regardless of my insisting otherwise. It’s unfortunate that people have that opinion of me – I mean, I’m bad but I’m not that bad – but whatever.

Kissing is a funny kind of thing. I kiss a lot. I don’t know why. It doesn’t always mean something. There are different types of kisses. I don’t think kissing a lot of people makes you a slut. Maybe I’m wrong? Someone say something.

Friend kisses, kisses for the sake of kisses, lovely kisses, loving kisses. (I should stop those awful drunken kisses. It’s pretty tragic that I can’t remember most of them.) My favourite are first kisses. When you like someone and you’ve waited a forever to kiss them. Those are nice. The tension. The anticipation. The butterflies.

I am a sap. But not a slut.

Monday, July 12, 2010

internet friend.

I have an Internet friend. I met him through MySpace when I first joined the site nearly four years ago. He had a self portrait clearly done in Microsoft Paint as his profile picture. His username was ‘Caffeine Suicide’. (Maybe some of you were friends with him?) He lived in California. We instantly clicked. We wrote to each other every single day for months but then my life started happening and I got busy living so we didn’t talk as much. I have since deleted my MySpace account but me and Ray still talk.

I spoke to him for the first time ever in real time on Skype around last Hallowe’en, maybe Christmas. (I don’t remember rightly, I just remember that I’d come in from a night out and was exhausted, messy and possibly still a bit drunk.) He saw me but I didn’t see him. He was embarrassed but I don’t understand why because I was dangerously close to resembling a hag and I had no problem with him seeing me. Because we were friends, ya know? And I have no problem having my friends see me in ridiculous states.

Speaking to him was lovely. After three years of feeling like I knew him inside out, we got to actually talk. Have a conversation that wasn’t contrived in the same way that emails are. Of course, I conked out leaving the computer on all night, waking up around eight or nine to apologise for leaving my Ray in a state of silence. With the eight hour time-difference though, it really made very little difference to him.

I spoke to him again recently for nearly two hours one night. He’s the type of person you’d stay up late to talk to. And he has lots of problems. I want to fix them. Maybe it’s weird to love someone you’ve never met but I don’t care: Ray knows my whole life and he’s been there in cyberspace for some of the worst bits. I love him. And I would love to meet him. We’d drink coffee and talk about poetry.

The last time I spoke to him, he recommended that I should listen to a band called The Antlers. I downloaded their album the very same night. It is gorgeous. Ray used to listen to lots of ugly heavy metal music (meaning you had to mute the sound on the computer whenever you went onto his MySpace profile back in the day) so I was pleasantly surprised to find that The Antlers were just my cup of tea.

This is the first gorgeous song that Ray linked me to:

You should listen to it. If you like pretty, indie sort of sounding music with nice lyrics, it will be right up your alley. Okay? Okay. (:

So pretty much the main point of this post was to plug this song. And my lovely friend Ray doesn’t read this so it certainly wasn’t intended to big up his ego.

Basically, Internet friends are nice and so are songs recommended by Internet friends.


Friday, July 09, 2010


I’m sure I was born under a bad sign.

Today, my wonderful, loving, caring mother spilled a full cup of extremely hot tea with very little milk all over my legs. I screamed like a cartoon character and leapt up from the kitchen chair. My sister was there shouting at me to take off my tights but my brain was operating at a ridiculously slow pace out of pain and it took me a minute to process the advice. I spent the next ten minutes in the shower dowsing my poor thighs in cold water.
The redness is gone down now and my lower limbs have been treated to a nice dose of E45 moisturiser. Hallelujah.

My mother feels awfully guilty. She offered to buy me a tin of cider. (I declined but now I’m thinking that cider would cool me down nicely.) She’s also going to make me a sandwich. She will be Slave Mother for the next few hours. Serves her right. I am effectively a victim of child abuse.

What bothered me most about the incident was that my white dress (pictured here) was stained and therefore unwearable. I’m now wearing pyjamas and a hoody. I’m going out in a bit and I have nothing to wear. Wonderful. Well, no. Tragic really.

Also, I think my gums are collapsing which is a weird and frightening feeling. The bit behind my back molar on the right side of my upper gob feels as though it’s been burned by hot food or something, only it hasn’t. It definitely feels as though it has depleted. Perhaps I have scurvy. Gum disease runs in my family so I’m extra paranoid about my teeth and oral hygiene and that. I’m going straight to the dentist Monday morning. It would be more than flesh and blood could stand if all my teeth started falling out. Eww.

All accidents and emergencies aside, I feel sort of alright. The weather’s crap and I wish I was at Oxegen or at least dressed up and consuming copious amounts of alcohol somewhere. But no matter. Could be worse. Sandwich and cider, please. Then my life shall be sort of complete.


My very first 'look'. Milestone, baby.

Thursday, July 08, 2010


Adjusting the brightness on photos is a technology which pretty much saved my self-esteem. Not trying to be funny, but I wish I was that luminous in real life. And I wish my hair was actually that colour. It’s supposed to be, but it’s not. It’s just brown. Boring brown. The exact same colour it was before I got it done. Except I have ginger roots. I’m hoping the rest of my hair will fade and look something like this but, honestly, I don’t see it happening. I’d be better off buying a bottle of dye outta the chemist and doing a DIY job (or bullying one of my friends into doing it for me).

Also, I took a photo of the clothes what I am currently wearing but the more I looked at it, the more I began to worry about my colossal tummy. And my fat arms. This is getting ridiculous.  I didn’t do my four miles today because the weather looked awful. It hasn’t rained yet but it looks like it’s going to. And, yes, I know – who are you telling this to, Emma? Us or yourself? I’m consoling myself. I’m stuck between a rock and a packet of crisps. Which is utterly, utterly tragic.

Perhaps it’s that time of month or something (sorry, male readers), but my self-esteem has been rock-bottom lately. I keep noticing things about myself that never would have bothered me before. Like how crap my fringe is. And how massive my arse is. And how my breath probably smells. This is weird. What is wrong with me?

(In other news though, I’ve started re-reading Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. I forgot how lovely it was.)

good advice.

I’m a pretty impulsive person. I do things without thinking. I don’t set much store by consequences. Sometimes I really don’t care. Particularly when it comes to boys (and girls, actually). I’m fickle. I’m changeable. I change my mind more often than I change my socks. I’m also very, very stubborn. All of this makes for a dangerous concoction.

I got some advice the other day. You know those friends who you love and adore and whose opinion you trust beyond the beyonds but who are sometimes a little too honest? I have one of them. Because I’m so fickle and I change my mind so frequently, he suggested that if I (think I) like someone, I should let five different opportunities pass without kissing them. The idea is that if I still want to kiss them after five missed goes, then I must like them. Properly, like. You know, rather than just thinking I like them ‘cause they’re there and they smell nice. (Wow, I must be a sucker for pheromones.) Good advice. It could work. I will try to put it into practice but I don’t know if I can overcome my impulsivity.

Wish me luck or something.

Wednesday, July 07, 2010

unstylish tummy.

(Okay, so new blog layout. Feel free to leave constructive criticism and/ or support for my poor HTML skills in the comments section, okay? Okay.)

I’m feeling pretty inspired clothes-wise lately, having discovered the gorgeous blogs of Indiana Adams, Alyson Woods, Isabel, and The Style Rookie. They are each fantastic and uplifting and lovely fashion blogs which you should go read.

So the t-shirt I’ve been coveting for months arrived in the post the other day, courtesy of my Yankland brother’s credit card:

Make Awkward Sexual Advances

I’ve picked up a few items of clothing lately, despite my perpetual poverty. Most are things that my sister didn’t want and then two bits from Penneys. A few outfit posts are on the horizon, I think.

Bear with my paunch, okay? Operation Farewell Fatty has been on hold with the last week or two what with the awful knock my mood has taken lately, but is set to resume in the morning when I shall walk four miles. Oh yes. Oh blimey. O’Reilly’s trousers.

Monday, July 05, 2010


Some poor quality webcam photos of my new asymmetrical hair. I took about 10, 879 pictures but these were the only decent ones. Which says a lot really. And I have a weird chin.

The weather is crap today. It is sunny for ten minutes, then raining for ten minutes. Crap. Nevertheless, I am going out to play. I ought to wear tights though…

Also, I found some cute new blogs which I shall post about later.

Anddd, once again, I love my life. Today is a good day (despite the weather and the snotty nose I’ve got).


good to chew.

Hilarious Irish films.
Mummy Dearest.
Painted toenails.
Conversations with brand new people.

Sunday, July 04, 2010


Sometimes I feel like I am on a completely different planet to everyone else. I just don’t get public opinion. And sometimes I feel a bit weird when people agree with me. I can’t understand why everyone likes you. I mean, I like you but why does everyone else? You can be irritating. And you think you are so perfect. Maybe you are. Maybe that’s why I find you irritating. I cannot compete. But you’re leaking into every other bit of my life and rendering me useless. You’re a better, funnier and prettier version of me. Only less weird. And vulgar. Maybe that’s a good thing. I think people only like me because my vulgarity is novel and new. I feel like a one-woman freak show.

We’re drifting apart. We are so different. We are growing in opposite directions.

Saturday, July 03, 2010

magical thinking.

I’m still sleepy. And I have no hair. And my roots are ginger but sadly the rest of my (limited) hair is much darker than I wanted. But it’s okay. Because I’m alive, despite my best efforts.

Spending time with V was lovely. What a beautiful, amazing and hilarious girl. Is that a kebab in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

Things are getting better. Slowly. It’s barely noticeable. But I have new asymmetrical hair (a picture of which I’ll post at a later date since I look like merde at the moment), and a new lease of life what with all these epiphanies and inspiration in the form of lovely new people and the rejection of those old and crap people. Which sounds brutal. Because it is. But it’s harder for me to admit it, you know? Ugg. You don’t know. Focking ambiguity.

My brother’s Yankland woman sent home some pressies. This lovely bag which I pretty much adore:

Coach Leatherware, which is apparently quite fancy and expensive. Fair play, Christina. I love love love the colour. Papaya. Ooh, baby.

She also sent me The Red Magician. It’s strange and Ukrainian and pre-WWII. Which is not really my kind of book but I’m not exactly spoiled for choice in the literature department of late (what with being too lazy to walk to the library) so I shall give this book a go.

God bless ‘er, Christina also got some photos which we took last year framed for us, which I think was a really sweet idea. Lovely frames. Plus, my hair looked nice. Even if my face looked colossal. (:

It is a beautiful day. I’m going to spend some time with one of my favourite gingers (of which there are many) and spend twenty yo-yos in Penneys. (I feel like a millionaire.)

My hair is well short. Shorter than it’s ever been. I trust my hairdresser with my life but I have to admit, I’m nervous about the lack of hair on my head. I feel nude. (Which reminds me: last night before I went to that gig in Cusack’s, I asked the people in the house what they thought I should wear. Bad idea. My mother’s lack suggested I become a naturalist. What the f…?)

Okay. Sunglasses. Skirt. Brogues. Bright Eyes. Some class of t-shirt (don’t even care). Ready.

I am sorry that I am so changeable with my moods, my opinions, my hair and my relationships. Áfach, sin an fáth go bhfuil sibh i ngrá liom, nach bhfuil?


Friday, July 02, 2010


Almost a year later and nothing has changed. But I’ve finally realised something. Somehow. Amidst cider and painkillers and emo cuts. And you saying that there was no chance. You said ‘now’ but I know you meant ‘ever’. And I have been wasting such a huge part of my life on you. The better part of my copped-on teenage years. But, mistakes aside, I have a proper chance at being happy now. The same chance I had before. And wasted. Because I am always so confused and greedy.

I’m sorry for worrying you. I worry myself too. But I feel so phenomenally invisible sometimes. And lonely and alone. Especially now. Especially with all this emptiness and sadness. And, yes, that is me being greedy. I can’t justify it. I can’t explain my motives. I just want everything. Especially what I can’t have.

And you will think that I shouldn’t do this. But I am different now. Less selfish. I have realised two very important things:

1. Life is short.
2. Happiness is what you make of it.

I can’t wait forever. So I’m not going to.

You smell amazing.