Tuesday, December 21, 2010

If you were made of cheese I'd eat you

Ok..I know how this looks....

But don't be alarmed, because it's exactly what it looks like. Cept maybe worse... 

Now I know we're all warned about the dangers of eating cheese before bed, apparently it's hard to digest and so it gives you bad dreams or something. Well, let me tell you a story...
Once upon a time, there was a girl who ate cheese before bed......(wavy fading into dream lines)

It was a bright sunny day, and I was out for a nice friendly stroll in the park. The birds were singing, the sun was splitting the rocks..and people say cheese gives you nightmares??? Along my walk, I spotted a group of lads I'm friends with and wandered over for the banter, y'know, the usual stuff- the weather (of course! I'm Irish, what else would I talk about??) the general craic, and all of a sudden, a strange and terrible thing happened!

In front of my eyes, my group of friends transformed....INTO CHEESE!!!

And this is where it gets really bad, coz it all goes downhill from here, because in dreamland, where you can't control things and things sometimes change as you look at them, my subconscious mind couldn't decide whether they should now look like blocks of cheese or if they should look like people made out of cheese, so it kept changing between the two and getting really trippy, and then....I was hungry.....I mean, you'd do the same..it was free cheese and it'd only get spoiled in the sun, and I was hungry!!! and so....I cut a slice off one of my friends....
Yes....I cut a slice off one of my own cheese friends so that I could consume him...

And then it explodes into a whirlwind of trippy again! Coz now my subconscious mind is in overdrive and it doesnt know whether the slice should look like a slice of cheese or a limb or a slice of person and at one stage I swear it was a slice in the image of somebody's face, and at the same time it's trying to figure out whether the cheese people should look like cheese, and in that case have a slice missing, or should look like people and in which case have a limb or a slice missing off themselves, and it all keeps changing as it sorts itself out, and it's all around me and I'm eating the cheese and I just can't stop and I can't decide if I'm just havin a snack of cheese or if it's cannibalism!!!!!

And then I wake up......in a cold sweat...or what I hope is a cold sweat....and vow to myself that this would not be the last time I ate cheese before bed, coz dammit a dream like that makes you feel refreshed, and the look on your friends' faces when you tell them 
"I ate you last night" makes your day....

Cheese dreams. Making bad dreams good fun.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

Chocolate does not belong on the walls

Just a brief little warning about the dangers of being students and having birthday parties with cakes included....

So, everybody knows there's nothing better than a good student house party....within reason...and by that I mean, so long as nobody poops on your chairs....

So, my housemates decided to throw themselves 21st birthday parties, although they have in fact all been 21 for over half a year by now...they're odd guys, what can I say.. and invited all the friends and whatnot to come and play, as long as nobody did the dirty on the chair. One of my friends decided that in keeping with the theme of the party, she'd bake an auld birthday cake and bring it along for the fun. And we were all having fun and the cigarette candle lit in the middle of the cake was blown out, and all of a sudden, one of the lads's friends face-dived the cake, threw some at another friend, and mayhem ensued with the cake in its entirety ending up all over the walls, the carpet, the furniture, the roof and most importantly, all over everybody at the party!

Over the course of that night, one of my friends bit me and left a bruise on me almost half the length of my arm. The same friend and another, it turned out, were tripping at acid in the nightclub we went to afterwards. Photos have emerged of me sitting on somebody's shoulders and one of the lads on the back of a girl who is 4'10", somebody puked up all over our toilet, and my sister chased the guy who had started the cake fight with a sweeping brush....messed up night..

I seriously have got to ban parties from my house....

On another party related note, I really wish I could remember the majority of my recent nights out. It's getting confusing....

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

...Is that???....Yup... what the fucking fuck?

Do not read this if you have a weak stomach, a fear of poo or have just eaten.

Seriously?? You're still gonna read this??? ....just don't say I didn't warn you........

I will never understand the mindset of someone who takes a shit on a kitchen chair.

A sentence I never thought I would ever see myself writing, hear myself saying, need to even think about! And yet, I've just written it. And I could be a bit more lenient if it was a child, or even an old incontinent person, but it wasn't. It was a young adult! A college student! And it wasn't even their fucking chair!! It was mine!!!!! ..let me explain.

During the week, I live in rented accommodation with my sister and some of my friends in the town where I go to college. This year, once everyone was moved in and settled, we decided to have a party, as us young people are wont to do. And all was merry and joyous. We had some drinks, had the craic, and then went out for the night.
On returning, some of us went straight upstairs to bed, one took a bed downstairs and two fell asleep on the sofa in the sittingroom. In the middle of the night, I awoke to a loud crash and on venturing downstairs, found one of the two who had been asleep in the sittingroom, now on the floor in the middle of the room, scrabbling around blindly and babbling incoherently. And so, I brought her to the bedroom downstairs and dropped her on the double bed with whoever else was there already- the other occupant of the sittingroom was now asleep on a mattress in the kitchen for some reason. And I went back to bed.

The next morning, I woke early, went downstairs to make tea, in a hungover state of course, and saw what appeared to be a brown lump on a kitchen chair that was in the sittingroom from the party the night before.
Oh God, someones been sick on a chair!!! Or at the very least spilled their food.....my head hurts, I'm going back to bed. and I did.

On waking a few hours later, I went back down to the sittingroom where I found all my housemates sitting in stunned silence and staring at the kitchen chair, which I had subsequently forgotten about...in the cold light of day, I realised my mistake.

>Lads....is that shit? Did..did someone shit on our kitchen chair???

A number of horrified faces looked up at me briefly, numbly nodding their heads. Then, as a body, all of us turned back and stared, appalled at the chair.

>Why would someone do something like that? one of the lads whispered.

After a few minutes of staring, in dumb silence, we finally decided that nobody could be so disgusting as to shit on a chair, and since, we remembered, one of the girls had been going around chewing up chocolate sweets and spitting them around the toilet bowl so we'd think someone had missed, we decided that was what must have happened, and so, one of the lads, confident in his decision that what we were looking at was in fact, Ferrerro Rocher and not poo, volunteered to smell it. I lifted the chair over to him, taking care to keep as far away from the brown substance as possible, not as confident as he in the morals of humanity, and held it up while he debated sticking a finger in it to get a better smelling opportunity, and eventually decided that he would just go as it was.

The look of utter traumatised disgust proved to us that it was not chocolate. Some fucked up bastard took a shit on our chair.

Eventually, we drew lots. And decided that whoever cleaned the chair didn't have to clean anything else in the house. One boy held the plastic bag while another, wearing rubber gloves and holding cardboard scraped the offending matter off the chair into the bag. Another lad appeared with the kettle full of boiling water and from a distance, because the smell was killing me, I squirted washing up liquid at random all over the seat. The rubber gloved boy washed with a cloth and then disposed of both rubber gloves and cloth. The chair was left outside for the elements to finish the job.

Suspect number 1: The girl I found on the floor who had been on the sofa asleep...she was drunk enough to do it...maybe without even realising.
Suspect number 2: The boy who took the downstairs bedroom..he left awfully quick in the mornin, something he usually doesn't do..
Suspect number 3: One of our own!! The owner of the downstairs bedroom who had been on the sofa and ended up in the kitchen!!! I know, shock horror, surely one of our own wouldn't betray us like that..but these are suspicious times...

What kind of thing goes through somebody's head to make them do that??!! Why would someone even do it???!! Why??

All I can say is..... at least it wasn't the carpet or the upholstery.....

Friday, September 17, 2010

The Dog Did WHAT In the Night??????

For the last 3 years I've had a rough collie called Brandy. Lovely thing, real bouncy, full of beans, pure-bred and all. The only problem was that Brandy was sterile...infertile... BARREN!!!! So needless to say, when the dog next door humped the arse off it every now and then, although we did chase it away, we never gave it a second thought, other than, you're a ginger dog, she's not, it'd never work out...

Two nights ago, Brandy gave birth to 6 puppies.


Yes, yes I did, but either we have an immaculate conception on our hands, or we were mistaken in our assumption....I would think that's the correct answer since we never actually got her checked out.....

Now, as we were not aware that the dog was, in fact, preggers, when she started makin a bit of a ruaille buaille in the middle of the night, we assumed it was to do with neighbouring dogs, the scent of a fox in the wind, something else, and it wasn't until the morning, when  the father went out to feed her that he noticed the pups runnin round...and it wasn't until about 8 hours later when my brother, having returned home from school, said he'd go check on the pups, that I even heard they existed!! And it took about 10minutes before I believed it..

Now, unfortunately, as is wont to happen in a dog's first litter, the majority of the pups did not make it through the first day. We now have 2 left and they seem strong enough little things,  so hopefully they'll survive. The brother named one Cat, much to the disapproval of my mother who says it'll be confused....yes..because it knows its a dog and not a cat....

>sorry there boss, don't mean to disturb you there but, you called me Cat....
>eh, well..it's just...it's just that I'm a dog......

I named the other Woofles. Coz it's a cute name. and it means nothing.....

The moral of the story is, never believe your dog when it tells you there's no way it can pregnant so it should be free to shag whatever dog it wants! Don't believe it when it says that if the boy dog is chased away half way through that it can't get knocked up. And most of all, don't have 2-way conversations with your dog, unless you're Dr. Doolittle or something...that shit can get you thrown in the funny farm....

Friday, September 3, 2010

2 more reasons to worry bout the sanity of my family.. a kilt, a sword, some hunters and a duck??!!

Reason the 1st.
One brother, one kilt: A thank you letter.

The Kilt......

Dear older brother,

Thank you for the visit home this weekend, straight off the plane from your holiday to Edinburgh in Scotland!! Thank you for the enthusiasm with which you showed off your lovely new kilt to us all, in your excitement over your purchase. Also, for explaining to us the advantages of a kilt over trousers when, as you so eloquently put it
ya havta go for a dump
I'm sure it is an awful lot easier and time-saving when all you have to do is pull your kilt up...
The enthusiasm with which you described your trip- the theft of your friends trousers by an-apparently-not-very-ex-criminal, the failure to get the ride from your American interest because of her annoying friend, the, admittedly disturbing, excitement with which you described your trip to the armoury and the hat store, was refreshing to hear and we're all very happy that you enjoyed your trip and that you chose to come home and visit.
On saying that, no, thank you but I'm not interested in whether you are wearing your kilt the 'proper Scottish way' or not, and your random act of flashing your bare arse at me every so often is achieving your intended goal of making me more than a little unwell. Please stop, I'm glad you're comfortable with your body but I don't want to see it.

Also, good call on the whole, not buying a proper sword from the armoury decision. You're right, you most likely would not have gotten through customs or security.

Yours, etc,

Reason the 2nd

one father, one duck, one big frickin shock for a hunter....
At the bottom of our land there is a game sanctuary.... I never know why it's called a sanctuary when the purpose of it is to rear birds to shoot them..hardly a place I'd describe as a sanctuary... now, don't worry, we don't own it, it's on the neighbouring land like, but they gotta use our lane to reach it... Anyway, there are 2 lakes in this sanctuary, and when the hunters shoot, the ducks scatter from one and fly to the other and the hunters get them while they're in flight...I don't like it either.. My Da loves to laugh about the hunters and what a ridiculously easy set-up it is to just take pot shots at the ducks as they all fly the same direction...so...
The Practical Joke...
I came downstairs on Wednesday to find my Dad and his twin brother who was over visiting sniggering away at something. When I came in, my Da looked up with a smirk and said,

Did you hear the shooting?

I did...

Well, go outside the front gate, there's a silver car parked there belonging to one of the hunters, look inside at the drivers side....

Then he and the twin dissolved back into giggles.
So I went outside, and I looked in the window of the car, and there, lying on the dashboard, with its head poking through the steering wheel so it was hanging down was a dead duck. Best of all was the 'I surrender' sign that had been propped up on its back....
Apparently one duck managed to make it up the lane before it died, no doubt it almost killed the hunter with shock too when he saw it......

....and people wonder why I'm weird....??!!!

Friday, August 27, 2010

what doesn't kill you......

So yesterday I got a message on a social networking site reminding me to wish my friend a happy birthday...
....My friend died of stomach cancer a year and a half ago...

That shit fucks you up... But it also got me thinking, kinda contemplating the last 2 years of my life.. after a few seconds of trying not to vomit that is... and to be honest, even though I've had some pretty dire times, I feel stronger about who I am and about life in general because of it...is that weird...?

It's not the first time that I had to deal with cancer of somebody I know. My own grandmother died from it, as well as the mother of a close friend of mine. But it was the first time that I actually felt the effects first hand. I thought he was getting better..but then in the new year before he died we found out it had spread to his brain and one day in March after I was leaving my house to attend the wake of my friend's mother, my sister stopped me and said, hey Twink, did you know a guy called Eugene in the Drama Society coz he died this morning of cancer. And that was it. That was how I found out that one of the most genuine, honest, funniest, most unbiased and most wonderful guys I ever had the pleasure or the honour of knowing was dead. Obviously the texts came through a while later with, hey we hate to break the news.... but the damage was done.
It's hard not being able to mourn for your own loss when you have to be strong for your friend. In his honour, an award was created by the Drama Society (coz he was a big member of it) for a member of the Drama Society to receive every year, called the Spirit of Drama Award. And this year I was asked to present it. Knowing that every year people will remember him, and the new batch of members will be told about him is one of the most satisfying things to know.
I was lucky to have a counsellor at the time...
To be honest though, this was another milestone in a truly terrible start to the year.

On the first of february of that same year, my older brother was attacked in Galway where he's in college. A group of lads jumped him and his friend and tried to assault them. However, my brother and his friend are both members of the rowing team and because of that are extremely strong and fit guys so when they fought back and looked like they were gonna get the better of the thugs, the guys panicked, pulled a cement pipe off the wall of an old building and threw it at my brother. It hit him in the head and they ran. When he was brought to hospital soaked in blood and unconscious, the doctors assumed he was a drunk teenager who had one too many and fell over and left him there for 8 fucking hours, before they got worried, did an MRI scan and found out he had a fractured skull and a brain aneurysm. Rushed to Dublin to the Beaumont, he went into surgery for about 5 hours (it was meant to be 3) where they found he also had a clot. I swear I have never been so shaken in my life. I wasn't told til he came out of surgery because everyone worried I'd freak out coz of my OCD, and it was one of the most hurtful things that's ever been done to me. I mean, they meant it for my own good, but while they got to say their goodbyes, tell him they loved him, pray for him, I was unaware til he came out of surgery.. 
What if he'd died and I'd never gotten to say goodbye?

In the prep for surgery, his main concern was that they go handy on his long thick curls when they were shaving it, to which the doctor said, "Nurse, you might need to knock him out now..."
and his famous quote to my sister before he went in to be prepped? "Worst case scenario they have to shave my hair", and all she could think was, "worst case scenario you die!"
A year and a half on, he's fit as a fiddle, rowing again, and apart from a massive scar on his head, and a small patch of shorter hair on his head he's fine.

Two weeks after his accident, I got a message that one of my good friends had collapsed, coughing up blood, rushed to hospital, they found he had a brain tumour and 50-50 chance of survival. However, he made it through surgery to remove it and recovered..or so we thought.
A while later he texted me saying, I have these numbers on my phone and messages from people...but i dont know who they are... who's this for example...
"That's my sister. She's one of your best friends"
A week later, Hey, I know we're friends and from the messages we seem to be good friends, but I'm having trouble remembering who people are....who are you?
It took a while, but he is ok now. Apart from needing a cane from time to time when he suffers bouts of weakness in one leg, an effect of the surgery.

Within the space of 2 months, I had almost lost a brother, and a good friend, as well as actually losing another good friend.
It's not easy to think back on that time..it was one of the roughest of my life. But I survived it. I toughened. I got counselling and I got helped. I relied on my friends, I relied on family. I relied on the people who would listen to me say the same thing over and over again because I just needed to say it. And I owe those people more than I can ever repay them.

This year, my neighbours wife got pregnant. A month before the birth, my neighbour was diagnosed with leukemia. They already had a two year old. When she was pregnant with that child, he was diagnosed with leukemia also. He's a good man. He's caring and friendly. He's funny and welcoming. He's one of the best men I know. And he doesn't deserve this. He didn't deserve it the first time and he certainly doesn't deserve it a second time. But he's doing well, he's had a bonemarrow transplant and is getting treatment. Here's hoping. When I see him, I ask him how his treatment's going. Then I tell him that his three year old would look lovely with a lip ring, that his (now) 7 month old is almost old enough for a tattoo and I could hook her up. And he laughs. Coz we recognise that he has cancer, he's not dead.

We all need help sometimes, whether we're the one experiencing something or affected as a by-product. What helped me most wasn't the people who constantly came up to me and said, and how's your brother now, he almost died, it's shockin altogether I can't believe it. Coz I knew all that stuff, and as far as I was concerned they felt nothing compared to how bad i felt. 
What helped me were the people who saw me looking down and brought me back up with conversations about nothing, about the sky or the trees, about who kissed who and who did what, about what colour hat their friends cousins neighbour was wearing. And knew to listen when I needed to talk. What helped me were the people willing to sit for hours and say, yeh, yeh, ok, hmm, when appropriate whether they listened or not, or who were willing to drag me off my ass and stop me feeling sorry for myself. The ones who wouldnt let me drop out of college. The ones who came into my room said, 
Twink, you smell like shit. Get the fuck out of bed and have a shower, we're going to have fun today.

Shit happens. Shit hurts. But it hurts a little less when theres someone there with you holding your hand and inflating your life jacket. In the long run, I'm better able to handle downturns and upsets, I'm better able to handle myself when something bad happens. I cry. I mope. But I don't let myself give up anymore, coz I know it gets better. It will always get better. 
And what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

Monday, July 26, 2010


I come from a family of people who assume that anybody can be a hairdresser, all they need is a scissors. And that of course includes ourselves. Now deep down we know how wrong we are. We realise that we are not the michaelangelos of haircutting and yet, nothing delights us more than taking up the scissors and thinking to ourselves, ah sure, how hard can it be, before making the worst hair mistake of our lives...for the twelfth time. 

As a young lass even, I fell foul to the desire of my brother to explore his possible future salon-worthy talents, and his decision that he'd give it a trim so he could get some of it to use in a game. In our game my hair was 'golden thread' and he was the maker of it. So of course I let him go ahead with it, where else were we gonna get our golden thread from, and sure, all a hairdresser does is cut bits of your hair off so whats the difference. The difference as I later found out after a lopsided jagged trim that had to be corrected with an emergency hair appointment to 'please god just fix the girl's hair' was that our family just wasn't born to cut hair.

Years later, my older sister would trim her own fringe (a feature of her hair that she put there in the first place against the advice of the hairdresser), my eldest sister would trim her own hair badly coz she's a hippy and doesn't go to the hairdresser (I made that part up, I think she's just scroungey and didn't want to pay for a cut) and if that pair of idiots could get away with it, why couldn't I?? And so I gave myself 'a bit of an auld trim'. Now, I have what one would call curly hair. In fact, my hair is so curly it could be referred to as almost afro like. So what I didn't take into account, although it probably wouldn't have made much difference to how I cut it, was the spring factor- where my hair bounces up after a bit is cut off it so it looks shorter than it is. The result was a slanted, diagonal, truly terrible trim, but sure it saved a bit of money! And a little while later, when I straightened my hair and saw the true extent of the disaster, you'd think that would have deterred me from cutting a fringe, but oh no, not only did I cut the fringe, I forgot how much shorter it would be when curly again.... I'll let your imagination do the work here... I went for a trim not long after that.. the hairdresser paused before asking, 'where did you get your hair cut last?' 'Ah, sure I gave it a bit of a trim myself' I replied, proud as punch. 'And did you do the fringe as well?' (bear in mind it had grown out a bit by this stage, to a respectable length at least) 'I did!' She looked at me for a minute before carefully saying, 'You realise your hair is very lopsided and I'll have to take a few inches off it to even it out?' 'Ah right, that's fine' 'Don't cut your own hair again'. 'No bother'. And I haven't....really....although I do still cut my fringe..carefully...and badly...

Anyway, given our family's (mostly mine) lack of talent when it comes to hairdressing, when I arrived home from college one weekend to be greeted by a horrified sister with the words, 'Da gave the dog a haircut', I should have been more worried. In fact, I should have been worried full stop!!! Instead I said, 'did he? That's good, we've been saying for ages it needed one!' and wandered away without another thought. Two days later when I finally spotted the dog I almost died. 'DA!!!! What the fuck did you do to the dog????!!!! A sheepish looking father entered the room...'well, your mother wanted me to get the dog groomed coz it's coat was getting a bit long', 'so you butchered the poor thing instead????' 'wellllll, i decided to brush it first to get rid of the tangles, y'know, and sure, I couldn't even get the brush through for the knots, so I decided to trim it a bit to make it easier, and once I'd cut out the tangles, I decided to even it out a bit, and once I'd started, I spose I got a bit carried away.....' 'A BIT???? THE OTHER DOGS'LL LAUGH AT IT!!! It looks diseeeeeased!!' my Da, about to head back out the door to the living room and his paper, paused in the doorway and gave a proud little chuckle, 'sure, at least this way we won't need to pay to get it groomed will we?'

As the bald-spotted, patchy, scruffy looking dog slinked back by the door to wherever it was hiding from the laughter of the dogs next door, I closed the curtain and pretended it was dead....

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Can I get a side-order of 'oh the friggin shame' with that?

Danger!!! This one's not for the easily-offended...

I have the stereo-typical Irish mother. Catholic, conservative, bakes an awful lot of brown bread and apple tarts, threatened us with the wooden spoon when we were bold kids and thinks the sun shines out of her sons's arses..and her daughters's...allegedly... sometimes I wonder... This is a woman who up until recently (when I swear she musta started the menopause or something coz shes chilled so much..) considered  'sugar!' to be her strongest expletive and 'merciful hour!' and 'heavens above!' were her ways of expressing surprise, shock, disgust, etc. So the following story shocked all us of the offspring variety to an extreme degree.....

(Story concerns younger brother, 15)

So the mother instructs the young lad to tidy his room coz it was a kip, and off he goes on his merry way ..scratch that, he probably stormed.. to tidy the bedroom. He comes back after a few minutes and says to the auld wan, "I'm not aaaable to tidy my room!! Will you do it for me??" And much to the surprise of all, coz this wouldn't have happened when I was a young lass, ma agrees, and off she goes.

After a while, the brother is called down to the room and ma has a question for him... With an auld rag in her hand, she turns to him and says, "whats this, son?" My brother looks at it, winces and says "...you don't wanna know ma..." In surprise she drops it like a hot potato and says, with trepidation mind you, "well....is it....for wanking in??"

Pause. This is a woman who didn't know the modern slang for kissing a boy a while back and clicks her fingers while she dances! Not a word you expect to hear from her..and I in retrospect I believe I taught her that one by accident...

Play. Ignoring the look of absolute horror on his face, she continues,almost proudly "I learned that word last year". The brother, caught off guard and in utter shock, goes with the 'honesty is the best policy approach' and replies, "yeh ma, it is", to which she says, and I shit you not, "Well, do you want me to wash it for you?" WTF Like?? Boy stares for a minute, "..what?" Oblivious, she elaborates, "Well, will you need it tonight or will I wash it for you??" Needless to say, "no, go on, wash it.." and a hasty exit are the reply.

Brother comes into the kitchen with a horror stricken look on his face..."most.. awkward.. moment..ever...."

A few days later, the brother receives the rag back from the wash, washed, ironed and folded neatly.

Sometimes I worry about that woman and her schizo behaviour... In my older brother's day she woulda freaked... It's got to be the menopause.....

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Town Mouse vs Country Mouse

For the last three years of my life I've been splitting my time between the University town where I just completed my Undergraduate degree, and the countryside where I grew up. And when I say countryside, I don't mean a village or a community, I mean a get-yourself-as-lost-as-you-possibly-can-and-there's-my-house type of countryside. I live down a lane in the proverbial back-arse of nowhere. So obviously the jump to a town was a shock to the auld system. 
Now that I have completed my undergrad and have only one foreseeable year left in the University town- for the History Masters I've been accepted into- I've been thinking more and more about where I'm meant to live when I enter the real world. Do I return to my roots, or do I continue on in an urban area? As it is, I return home on weekends and for the holidays, so should I make the return home permanent or urbanise myself? And it's not as easy a decision as I'd like, both having their advantages and disadvantages...
So there's only one thing for it.......

                                   Twinkie's Pros and Cons List!!! (the most important issues)

             Town                                                                 Countryside
 ->Amenities                                                       -> Security
 ->People                                                           -> Family
 ->Nobody knows me, my family,                         -> Everybody knows me, my family and
     who wiped my arse when I was a baby                 who wiped my arse as a baby..
 ->Things to do!!!                                                -> Sense of Community
 ->Civilisation                                                    -> Peace and quiet
 -> Fresh start                                                    ->Background, memories, roots, etc
             Town                                                                   Countryside
-> Dangerous/ lack of security                               -> No amenities
-> Loneliness among strangers                                -> Loneliness among the cows
-> No sense of close-knit community                      -> No transport- isolation
->Starting from scratch                                         -> A church choir that sounds like                                    .                                                                                   a bag of crows  
-> Fear of change                                                 -> Fear of always remaining the   .                                                                                          same.

Care to help me out here??? :)

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Obsessed? Me? What are the chances....

So I have obsessive compulsive disorder. Or as my family likes to call it, the crazies. And I suppose, some of the things I've been known to do in the past could be considered crazy by outsiders. I had an awful lot of habits. Getting off stairs on my right foot, eating in patterns, counting steps, blinks, everything really, and it all had to be in groups of 4. I had excessive handwashing (particularly when I was stressed- the backs of my hands were often cracked or red raw from washing). I had thumb pressing in a pattern, I had a 'fear of affection' as people say - from hugs, to kisses, to even ruffling my hair, it all just unnerved me. If I stepped on a crack in the pavement, not only did I have to step on a crack with my other foot, it had to be in the same place as it had been on the first foot. It was all about balance.. To add to all that, I was a compulsive worrier- everything from exams, to phone calls, you name it, I had a problem with it. I literally worried my sick on many occasions. And so, during the summer of 2008, when I had a continuous fear that lasted for 3 months losing me sleep and appetite and reducing me to tears and panic attacks almost every night, my mother finally had enough and brought me to the doctor out of fear that I might snap and kill myself..which I wouldn't have. Fast forward 2 years, 2 psychiatrists, 1 occupational behavioural therapist and a prescription for medication to cope with it and for the most part I'm a changed girl.

Although it has its humorous aspects, there are some serious drawbacks to my condition. I fucked up an awful lot of things because of a problem trusting people, because of my 'fear of affection', because I had so many self confidence problems and because I had basically got a chronic shyness coz of a fear of getting to know new people, of getting hurt, of letting people know me. Not only that, but being diagnosed with something like O.C.D. makes it very easy for every single thing in your life to be a result of the said condition. For example, everytime I now have a bad day, I get depressed, I worry about anything, it becomes an automatic reaction of my parents to blame it on my O.C.D. and while, granted, some of those things are related to it, it is also possible that there is something else the matter. A prime example of this would be the end of the summer I was diagnosed, when I came back from a messy holiday with extremely bad pains in my side and back, when I began to get sick and the pains became worse, it was blamed on the O.C.D. and my parents told me I was worrying myself sick again and that was it. It was only after a trip to the doctor where he sent me to hospital, that it turned out I had gastritis, having burnt the lining of my stomach, a problem which, in turn became I.B.S. and an intolerence to cider.

Being actually diagnosed with O.C.D. has changed my life, theres no denying it. The chances are I will be on medication for the foreseeable future, the risk of relapsing if I go off it is not one that I think I could cope with the consequences of at the moment. It's slightly shameful for me to feel that I can't live my life without depending on medication, but at the moment, that's the way it is. It's hard knowing that this is not something I can control without making a conscious effort all of the time. It's hard knowing that this is a condition which will probably affect me for the rest of my life. Knowing that if I plan on having children I will have to come off the medication and deal with the consequences of that is scary. Thinking about a life drugged up is as scary as the thought of a life coping without tablets. The thought that my child would be as screwed up as me is disconcerting and while it's not genetic, theres no doubt that a child would have to pick up some habits from it's mother. And so I've been realising that life won't be as easy as I had hoped it would be. When I take a knock I have a relapse, I get knocked right back and have to sometimes start almost from scratch. And when things are good I worry that I will ruin them because of my O.C.D. And I'm realising that I may never be sane. And most of all, for the first time, I'm realising that I have a mental illness...and that's hard to come to terms with.

Maybe it'll fade as time goes by...but for now, I'm off to press my thumbs and ponder...

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

I should be asleep but instead...

A modern day emigration....

So the sister is jetting off to Australia for a whole year on the 19th!!! And although maybe it doesn't seem like a long time or a far away place to many any more, it still is as far as I'm concerned. Two of her friends are over there so she's hoppin off to the sun the sand and the good times, along with some quare hot accents, lucky her... Problem is, according to her she's not looking to come back in a hurry. And maybe it's coz shes young and out for adventure and whatnot but I've a feeling this is gonna be one of those go-for-a-year-come-home-for-the-dogs-funeral type of things. The actual dog that is...shes very attached..even though the father gave it a seriously woeful haircut the other day..he got carried away... so i'd say if the dog dies she'll come home but only for long enough to watch it be thrown in a hole and then off she goes again.
And it's not like I'm not used to siblings fleeing the coop. The eldest sister doesnt live at home,although she hasn't relocated abroad..yet, and the older brother only comes home every few months- although to be fair he has an excuse at least.. so another sibling not being around so often isn't the problem. The problem is that from here to Australia is a bit far for the walkin, and the thought that my overclumsy, accident prone father will have another of his mishaps and sister won't be in an accessible location crosses the mind, or that she'll miss the younger brother as he experiences another year of angry teenage life, not to mention the fact that she'll be missing her own graduation from college... And of course the thought that something will happen to her while shes gone cant help but jump up and down in the background vying for attention..
Todays emigration isn't like that of years gone by when people were so used to family members and neighbours leaving that they were immune to it, almost expected it. It's not like that of old Ireland where it was a temporary separation til the rest of the family could join the emigrant, or a permanent fixture in which the departure was treated as a death, and yet people were so used to deaths that they were again, almost immune to it. Todays emigration starts as a holiday. A working abroad venture, where our brave emigrant realises they maybe wanna stay for another year and then another and all of a sudden they have a family a house and a permanent job and they don't come home any more.
So tough-as-nails da is gonna cry, and outwardly strong ma is gonna hold back the tears but be fretful and cranky, and for eldest sister who doesn't live at home it won't be the same, and older brother will be so focused on rowing he won't noticed. For younger brother the world will still be pitted against him and so he won't see anything else. Younger sister who thinks and acts similarly to Twinkie will feel similarly to Twinkie.
And Twinkie will wait for the sister who may not ever want to come home.

...least we won't have to share that car anymore.. some things I can live without...

It's only just beginning

I have never done a blog before....so, what's only just beginning? To be honest, I don't know yet. Coz I don't know what this is yet. And I don't know what I'm doing here, but I figure, If not, why not. So I am here. So that's what I'm doing here- being here....Does that make sense? It kinda makes sense to me..but then it's 5am and I don't even know what I'm doing awake... Maybe that's what I should be doing here- leaving....