MIDTERM CRISIS

A midterm crisis, for those not in the know, is exactly the same as the mid life crisis, except it occurs mid way through a term rather than life, and on a much smaller budget. Not being, middle aged I can't really say what exactly a mid life crisis is about, but my mid term crisis was centred upon the crushing weight of work I have yet to do, things I have yet to organise and emails I have yet to reply to, alongside exhaustion that makes me feel like I could happily go into hibernation, and my current lack of a job. 

I dragged myself into college despite feeling slightly fever-y for a meeting, wearing gym gear and a baseball cap. I have a vague recollection of this meeting being successful despite the fact the room was spinning and I rudely cut people off mid sentence a few times due to not being quite sure whether I in fact was actually in Trinity and not dreaming, in bed. I got ID'd in CEX buying the first bioshock game, went to see the girl on the train. Collapsed into bed to fever dreams that had me convince my boyfriend that there was a drink deal on a viking website to the point he googled it. 

My mid term crisis culminated with a crack. Unfortunately, the crack was that of one of my teeth splitting in half quite spectacularly. Not trusting any dentist but my own with a tooth that has already cost more than I would like to know in root canals I got the first bus I was awake for down to Kilkenny, in deep mourning for my days as a women with all her teeth. 

This was incredibly over dramatic, and incredibly vain. An image of of myself, laughing attractively to reveal a terrifying black gap in my smile where my tooth had once been (despite the fact the tooth was right in the back) was the only thing on my mind. On the way to my bus I consumed a large coffee, and then bought a large chai latte in Starbucks in order to use the toilet, which backfire because once it was finished and I was 20 mins into my 90 min bus journey I needed a wee once again. Eventually though, I got to my dentist office, early, to see whether anything could be done. 

My dentist is a hero. After some begging, she agreed to leave my tooth intact, removing the broken half and reconstructing it. While doing an incredible job, it was also a time consuming job. It could have taken the next 3 years and I would walk out happy at the end of it with the knowledge all my teeth were intact. 

Thirty minutes into what turned out to be a procedure that would take the same length of time as my bus journey, everything took a turn for the worse. The news came on, and the 7th circle of hell opened up. Trapped in the dentist chair, with several instruments stuck in my mouth and no way of signalling clearly to my dentist that I'd like a change in the station, a speech by Enda Kenny was broadcasted. 

Hearing Enda Kenny talk about pornography is a little portal to hell that can be accessed by anyone with an understanding of the english language. I would rather watch the entirety of Nathan Caters bank holiday special that ever here that again (something I wrote about how much I dislike Nathan here). It ended eventually, and I walked out of the dentist office with half a brand new tooth. Weirdly enough, my midterm crisis was over. 

I think it ended because hearing Enda talk about porn was a low point in my life, and it could only go uphill from there. Even hearing him mention the word is like a magical remedy for any academically induced crisis. It hurts, and is painful, and leaves a rather large mental scar, but at the end of the day places you on the up once again. 

The Bedsit Chronicles: Part Two- Neighbour Wars

The novelty of living in one room really wears thin when exams approach. The horror of sleeping in the same room that you have spent the last two days battling through Kant and then accidentally burning pasta, forgetting to do dishes and having to brush your teeth in the same sink is incomparable. I would rather get up at 7 in the morning to be the first person in the library instead. 

So I have started a new chapter in my life that involves setting alarms on my phone for before 10, making green juice, and going to the gym. The library security guards wish me good morning! I am a new person. A person who is reading war and peace before bed mostly every night and makes packed lunches, mostly. 

Before I get into this, I want to stress that if you have never lived in an apartment with thin walls, you probably won't understand how it is possible to know your neighbours so intimately that you have a clear image in your head of what they look like despite never having laid eyes on them. You know their deepest, darkest secrets, because you have overheard them. It's a special, weird relationship that is impossible to imagine until you enter into it. 

The first indication I had of the thickness of the walls was when what sounded like two parents fighting with their son about his fondness for smoking marijhuanna. It was so amusing to hear someones teen angst erupt in a situation that I had no emotional involvement in whatever I actively enjoyed the shouting. It ended pretty quickly, I fell asleep, and weeks went in perfect science, apart from the occasional rumble of a deep male voice and the sound of a TV on quiet. I felt pretty lucky, to be honest. 

Exam season began to approach, and I started going to bed the earliest I have gone in 3 years and waking up the earliest in order to get a seat in the library. Its a routine that has brought me surprising calm. I enjoy it. The third night of this new me, I cracked and didn't go to bed until half one in order to watch Game of Thrones. As I was drifting off into  sleep, the house was blissfully quiet. I was trying to empty my mind of thought in order to drift off into blissful sleep when suddenly, a TV started blaring, I live in an attached house, so it was in the next room (and next house). Whatever the person was watching, it was dramatic. My empty mind filled with the noise of frantic violins, and a couple having a violent argument. 

I laid in bed, the knowledge that my alarm was going to go off in 7 hours filling me with panic and anger. I got close to knocking on the wall several times. I thought about the Buddha, and how he says all suffering is alleviated by abandonment of the self. I tried to abandon myself, and not care about the neighbours for what felt like thirty minutes before my hate fire  was burning so brightly it was impossible to sleep. I deeply regretted not taking my sleeping tablets, and got out of bed to take one, despite the fact that they make me drowsy after 10 (it was two in the morning. 

I climbed back into bed, and the singing started. I am sure the Buddha himself would not have been able to abandon his ego if he had to listen to two men (in my head they were wearing check shirts, had receding hairlines and were wearing jeans with brown loafers) singing wagon wheel over the blaring noise of the TV drama. I knocked on the wall, the univeral symbol of neighbourly displeasure, and nothing. They seemed to be working their way through Nathan Carter's (described by my mother as "a man who should be silenced') entire discography. I banged a shoe, and still nothing. I thought wagon wheel was the song I most despised on this planet, but I had yet to hear Back to Tourmakedy. This inspired me to throw War an Peace (which conveniently was located beside my bed) at the wall. 

They moved on to Tequila Makes her Clothes Fall Off. I realised the music was so loud they couldn't hear me. I had thrown what some considered Tolstoy's finest literary work, one of the longest novels ever written with great force at the partition wall which had proven itself to be very thin and they still could not hear it over the volume of their Nathan Cater sing along.

I had nearly reached a level of rage that would have overcome my hate for confrontation and was considering going next door to ring their doorbell in breaks between songs and then let all of my pent up anger out, when I remembered that I had a secret weapon I could utilise. Two could play at the annoying music game, especially when one of those people(me) had an unusual like for bagpipe music. 

There is an incredible man on youtube called MarinesandPiper, a man I had unleashed against neighbours many times with great success. A man who covered pop songs on the bagpipes. I think he is a hero, and should be sainted, but most people despise Lady Gaga's poker face on bagpipes for some strange reason. 

Pavlov's dog new what was up. I decided that the only cure for this awful, awful, two in the morning sing song was Rebecca Blacks Friday, covered on bagpipes. I turned it up loud enough to drown out the music, pressed the repeat button, and drifted off into sleep confident in the fact that when they eventually did stop singing, they would spend the rest of the night listening to the worlds most irritating song played on what some consider the worlds most irritating instrument. 

I woke up the next morning to the shrill noise of terribly recorded bagpipes. I felt like Leonardo de Caprio emerging from the frozen body of the bloody horse in the Revenant. My sleep had not be the most refreshing, but my desire for revenge made it sweet. 

i wish this was the end of this story, but it isn't. The same thing happened for the next three night. Something had changed though. The singing was coming to a stop sooner and sooner after I began the bagpipe music. 

But on the fourth night, something magical happened. 

The voices started up around half one, and I clearly heard a male voice shout "I have been enjoying a drink for the last forty years, fuck off". Nathan Carter started up. I hit play on the bagpiper cover of Taylor Swifts Shake it Off. 

Nathan Carter stopped a verse in. A broken man shouted "Those fucking bagpipes!", and silence. No more Nathan Carter. I turned off Marinesandpiper, liking the Taylor Swift cover and sending out thanks to the universe for its inception. It was over; I had won. Nathan had been defeated.

Confessions of a serial procrastinator

I know everyone procrastinates, but I honestly have a problem with it that would probably mandate rehab if it involved alcohol. I have done things in an effort to procrastinate that actually go so far as to not be procrastination any more. This post is also procrastination, BUT for people who are less endowed in the subtle art that is guilt free timewasting, I thought I would give a helping (and probably self destructive) hand. 

The first key tip that I have to avoid doing the things you should be doing is internet access, although it is not always necessary. The second is an open, curious mind that is willing to do anything to avoid the productive task in hand. The third is creativity. Do not limit yourself to run of the mill activities, like binge watching netflix or tidying your room. That is amateur level, my friends. In order to truly procrastinate you should not just be avoiding doing the thing you are procrastinating about, you should be fully committing yourself to another activity to the point of being productive. And yes, me writing this post is procrastination. And I promise you, I have done all these things in the last week (it was reading week after all) 

1. I have begun learning german. With an app. Apparently I am 3% fluent, and I know the words for water (wasser), bread (brot) woman (frau) and boy (junge) as well as a handful more. This is an especially satisfying technique because I have no plans to go to germany in the near future, have never studied it and can at this point in my life see no practical application for it, apart from shouting it down the phone at my boyfriend, and in person to my dog. 
2. Googling answers to any question I can think of, for example how to sew on a button, how to get balsamic vinegar out of clothes, and my personal favourite, the origin of words. The key for this is to have no plans to use any of this knowledge, but for it to be justifiable 'just in case'. How to withstand torture, how to pick a lock, how to organise my non existent office for increase productivity, medieval law, Mary Boylyns reputation in France while she was at court. I am learning, just not the things I am supposed to know. I feel good, but not stressed. Perfect procrastination material. 
3. Vice. If you are not familiar with vice, you probably have never been on the internet and I judge you. Is it slightly sensational? yes. Gritty? yes. Do I need to be reading 500 articles on drug dealers and sex workers? No, because I am meant to be writing an essay on Descartes and he as far as I know was neither. I feel good because I feel like I am learning something, but I don't have the stress of learning a lot about it, and also don't need to know anything about it so its a match made in heaven.
4. Finding new apps to increase productivity is a brilliant way to waste it. I can spend hours organising my life when I should be doing something else, and no time when I should actually be organising my life, as I am probably reading Vice in bed. Downloading and trying out 8 PDF readers for iPad is a magnificent way to not feel guilty about the fact I have not read any of the PDFs I am supposed to be reading. Same with making 8 different to do lists on completely different apps and making lifestyle changes such as starting headspace downloading 1 or 20 fitness apps. 
5. In the library, and catch yourself on Facebook? Amateur level. Start researching a completely different topic to the one you are supposed to be, as obscure as you can find it. Really use this essay writing/researching time you have among thousands of books to explore as many diverse topics you can. Pile them around you. Read less than a chapter of each. Maybe even take notes. Find your interest of the moment, and then find another one. Ensure you will be able to talk vaguely and uneducatedly about it and move on. If you are not in a library, read the wrong chapters of your text book. They will be 500 times more intriguing and 500 times less applicable. If you are really committed, go back to the start of your course and take notes, in a new style, using multiple coloured pens. Make sure never to complete them. 
6. Get impassioned about a cause and plan to uptake a fight for it. It doesn't have to be charitable  it could be as simple as getting the group together for a night out in your home town. Organise as many events as you can, with as many people as you can. These events may or not take place, but they will be complex and involve logistical planning that should last until your study time is over and you feel justified in 'taking a study break'.
7. Spend hours signing up for job alerts from companies you never really plan to work for. Bonus time gets used up telling your mum about how many jobs you have applied for, leaving out the part about how they were all jobs for experienced visual merchants in Birmingham. 
8. Have an incredible idea for a business, talk about it in great detail to your dad/ boyfriend/ think about it in my head. Plan it all out. Never ever act on these plans or feel passionately about them again. This also works equally as well for hobbies. 
9. Think of all the songs you vaguely know, obsess over one melody and attempt to find the name of it based on one possibly correct line/ melody. If you manage to find it, learn all the words/ how to play it on piano, even though you don't know how to play piano anyway. Bonus points for calling family and friends and singing it to them over the phone. entrap as many innocents as you can in the fruitless search. If you can't find it spend 5 hours watching how to play the piano tutorials on youtube anyway, and a ream of paper printing out sheet music. 
10. Decide on a complex lifestyle/ diet change and spend a minimum of 3 hours researching it and finding recipes. Then make a shopping list, which sometimes get brought to the shop, but more often gets abandoned like the quinoa that has been sitting in my press since I started college. It is the thought that counts when it comes to this after all. 

So there you have it, 10 fab ways to procrastinate guilt free! Please comment any things you specifically do/ websites or anything because I am in a bit of a rut procrastination wise and might actually have to start working soon. 

Happy New Year Without Resolutions That Hobble Your Soul

I hate the new year. I feel like the fact that a whole year has so markedly gone by and I am aging and getting closer to death and I still haven't achieved anything, not really, that I want to achieve and life is slipping away from me, not even slowly, but really really fast. 

Being an extreme perfectionist, not the high achieving short, the sort that stays in bed because I will never achieve the dizzying heights that my own stupid brain requires me to so whats the point, is extra terrible at new years. 

This blog has become something of a sanctuary for me for that. I don't have crazy expectations. I don't need thousands of people or even hundreds of people to read it. I have people who read it, and they are lovely, and that is enough. 

On christmas Eve my mum and I were driving down to my granddads, and we were on a small country lane, and my mum was driving slowly because I was trying to find a good recorded version benjamin Brittens Ceremony of Carols, when I saw these car headlights in the middle of the road and we heard this scrape. A car, driving really really fast in the middle of the road, had almost hit us, but instead just scraped the side of the car. If we had been travelling any faster our car would have flipped, or they might have hit us head on. 

After that, I decided that I was going to stop worrying about whether I am good enough at doing things, and just do them. 

Its going ok, so far. But I have a project which I am very excited about and involves one of my passions so, hopefully that will rub off on it. And if it doesn't, at least I tried it. 

Hope everyone who is reading this has a happy new year, free from crippling and soul destroying expectations they place on themselves. Maybe I should get that printed on my christmas cards next year. Or written above my bed. Hmm

NOBODY CARES EXCEPT YOUR DOG

With all the shitty things that are going on in the world, I have been appriciating the fact that dogs exist even more than usual recently, which is something I didn't think was possible. Reading week, for most people, was a chance to party, or meet up with friends from home. For me, it was an opportunity to spend as much time as possible with my dog. Yes, that might be weird, but my dog is THE BEST. 

Bambi is 1 year old and we got her on christmas day. Some people probably think the sound of children laughter is the sweetest in the world. They are wrong. It is the sound of bambi's claws clicking against the floor as she scampers over to me when I call her name. 

Nobody appreciates me doing anything like my dog appreciates me bringing her for a walk. Her little face lights up and she waggs her tail so much its kind of like twerking. So cute. So much joy. 

There is a tremendous amount of shitty things happening in the world right now, we still have dogs. Everyone seems to be posting their opinions on Facebook, and someone who I am friends with posted a very aggressive and bigoted thing after the paris attacks. It really made me realise that when people post statuses on Facebook nobody cares. Everyone is just shouting their opinion, and they either agree with what you say, the violently oppose it and fight with you in the comments, or they don't care.

So many people posted educated and enlightening things, and that's so great to see. At least the majority of people I am friends with understand the huge plight that muslims are going through, and refugees are going through. With the invention of social media people are definitely more educated. But it also seems they are deaf to hearing other peoples opinions. People seem to think (i am definitely included as one of these people) that public opinions on social media are things that their friends or followers desperately want to hear. It just isn't true.

The people who want to hear your opinion will bring it up in conversation. If you want a genuine response, tell it to your dog. They will be so excited to hear emotion in your voice that you will receive a more attentive reaction that any of your Facebook friends are willing to give. 

It's my birthday and my anti- wrinkle campaign has begun // reflections on turning 20

Me on my last birthday with my youthful skin

It's my birthday next thursday and I'm scared. I'm turning 20. Twenty. I distinctly remember being 14 and my dermatologist telling me that I had a couple of years left of not using anti agin products but when I turned 20 it was time to start tackling my aging skin. Now I am 20 and my skin is aged. I am old. I am over the hill. Well, maybe not quite but I am no longer a teenager and therefore approaching the hill.

I do things like buy toilet paper for myself, take out the bins and decide that it's not sensible to go out because I have a lecture the next day. I haven't eaten mcdonalds in months. 

I wrote this before meeting my mum and aunt, Rosamund, for afternoon tea. My feeling on the subject after this life changing tea is quite different. 

Rosamund stopped telling people her age when she turned 21. I am going to do the same. Every so often, she has a significant birthday, but her actual age is never revealed. So it doesn't worry her. After all, this is only a number, a cliche but true saying. So after 21 I will officially stop counting the age and focus on the amount of presents I get instead. That is the real reason for birthdays after all. 

I am going to use turning 20 as an opportunity to change some things in my life. Some small and some big. I am going to spend less time watching shitty TV and more time doing things. You never remember the 10 hours you spend watching keeping up with the kardashians, but you remember reading, or crocheting, or drawing. Or not but you have something to show for the end. I know I am turning into my mother when I say this. 

I am going to stop wearing sweatpants outside on most occasions. Obviously, there are some times that simply cannot be got through without sweatpants. Being hungover is one of these. But I have fears of becoming a middle age woman wearing trackies and in my effort to avoid this I am going to try and wean myself off them (at least in social situations).

I am going to read more. And I am going to read whatever I want, and If I don't enjoy a book I am going to give myself permission to stop reading it halfway through. Instead of scrolling through instagram before I go to bed I will read. 

I am going to print more pictures so instead of having thousands of digital images I never look through I at least have some that I can look back on. 

I am going to start putting my health first. Nothing is more important than being well, and I need to stop putting unrealistic goals and my perfectionism above my happiness. 

I am going to start doing the things I love again. I feel like I don't do a lot of the things I really love anymore and I miss them and would be happier if I did them. So I will. 

I am never going to pretend I like kale ever again. I do not like kale. 

I am going to spend more time with the people I love. I am going to travel and see the world and write and listen to music. I will never allow anyone to treat me unfairly, be rude to me, degrade me. I will believe in myself. 

Some of these things are big and some are small. I feel like my life has really changed, and is really changing right now. The main thing being half my face has swollen up so half of me is a happy puffer fish and half is an angry puffer fish. This fact would have made me super self conscious and I probably wouldn't have been able to leave my house a couple of months ago. However, today I went out to lunch with my dad and worked my confused puffer fish face and it didn't bother me at all. 

if being 20 means ageing skin, but I get to care a tiny bit less about unimportant things and actually start being the person I want to be, I am ready for it. 

Apple, the dementors of the technological world

Apple just sucked another large chunk out of my ever diminishing consumerist soul. My iPhone broke. As in, completely won't turn on/restore. This isn't really an unusual thing to happen in the life of a smartphone owner, unfortunately. I guess every phone breaks after a while (even my dad's nokia brick only lasted 11 years) . The thing is, I had owned this particular iPhone for exactly 1 week when it decided to stop working. So by the time my iPhone gets back from apple, where it is being repaired because it is faulty, it will have already spend double the amount of time I have physically spent with it being fixed.  

I feel cheated and let down. I have owned iPhones for the last 8 years. I am a die hard apple fan. The first computer we ever had in my family was a (massive, looking back on it) apple mac. My grandad owned one of the first apple computer in Ireland, and it's still in my granny's attic. So I am a die hard apple fan. How could they prove the haters right and leave me with a broken phone after 1 week? 

For a moment I nearly considered selling my iPhone and getting, gasp, a samsung. I have heard nothing really bad about the samsug galaxy S6 (actually, my boyfriends mum's broke after a week, but apart from that), and I know android is a much more fluid and customisable operating system, and it is equal to, if not better then iOS. 

But, I am not going to. Owning apple products is like being in an abusive relationship. It's so good at the start, and even though they manipulate you and treat you like shit, you keep coming back for more. The really clear interface. The fact that they are so pretty. The fact that I know my macbook will last me for years, and the update after the new one has to be better than the last, surely? 

I know apple are completely playing on all my consumerist weaknesses, from the packaging to iMessage and everything in between. and I am not going to pretend to know a lot about computers, and argue the individual specs. Even writing this makes me feel unqualified for the post (if that even is a thing). I guess all I really know is that I really really like apple products and I really really don't like the idea of not owning apple products and although I may have been brainwashed into thinking this I don't want the fantasy to end. Not yet.

So, I don't have a phone for a week because the new software update damaged the software (ironic, I guess), and even though apple are the ones that left me stranded in this technology desert (ok I am over reacting, I still have an iPad, a TV and a laptop) I am counting down the days until I see that little white logo light up my phone once more. 

And I don't have to awkwardly skulk around bookies to use their free wifi so I can meet up with people. But that is a whole other post. 

Judge a man not by his character, but his ability to wear heels

Walking down Nassau Street last night at around 9.30 I came across a group of girls who were obviously on their way out. A couple of the girls were barefoot, carrying their shoes. Now, I'm not going to pretend that has never been me, on a night out. As I was watching them I was wearing shoes that were trying to amputate my feet, or so it felt. Many times, after wearing heels on a night out I have taken them home and walked home barefoot because I have reached my pain threshold for the night.  

But if it's before ten and you are going barefoot, and you're sober... why did you wear heels out? This is something I cannot understand. I never really wear heels out, not because I don't like them, but because I can't. Dyspraxia, having very small feet for my height and drinking is like the perfect recipe for bruises that look like I've been hit with a hammer. Not wearing heels means I am able to scamper around time my hearts content and walk home afterwards. 

Being tall means that I don't need heels for height, so I guess I am privileged in this way. I am roughly the same size as most of my friends, if not taller, when they are in heels and I am in flats. I can see how it might make you self conscious if you were smaller then your friends and wearing flats. Probably not as self conscious as when you will inevitably flop yourself on dublin's uneven pavements( I have twisted my ankle, sober, in flats about 5 times due to potholes in the pavement) but maybe I'm just sensitive. Also, unless you have that incredible girl-power that my friends seem to have, don't go anywhere near temple bar in heels because you will die, and if you have this power non of this article applies to you anyway. 

Not being able to walk in heels is one of the most unattractive things ever. The pain, or the change in gait or something forces you to adopt a pose much like turkey. No matter how good you may look, or how great your makeup is, you still look kind of like a turkey. And the wobbling makes you look like your ankles are separate entities and they have been drinking for 3 days and are trying to escape. 

The average irish male is about at eye level for me so when I'm wearing heels I can pat them on the head with ease. This is a huge perk of wearing heels but not, at the end of the day, worth the blisters/ walking like this

If you are a girl and you can walk in heels, you deserve a free pair. People (men) who don't/haven't worn heels do not understand the incredible feat that is taking place every time you walk somewhere. Also people (men, but especially women who have worn heels) should NEVER EVER hate on men who do. They are taking something that is difficult and making themselves great. If you diss a man (or anyone) wearing heels you deserve to get that heel impaled in your foot. After all, it's more or less how it feels for them (or for me, because I am weak).

Every day I see women (and the guy who I pass on camden street) contorting their feet into an unnatural position and looking frickin' amazing while doing it and I want to salute you all for your skill and bravery. But, if, like me, you do not posses such skill... leave the heels at home.