As most of you have probably noticed, the blog has been private for the last couple of months.
Anyone who saw the announcement on the twitter account or Facebook page knows that the The Stalkers managed to find the new blog and while it KILLS me to do it, I’m going to have to stop posting here.
I really thought I could keep going with My Calamity Physics after they forced me to shut down A Chick Named Hermia, but it was not to be.
Unfortunately, I just don’t have the enthusiasm to start yet another blog and put endless hours of work into building it up, so it looks like I’m done with blogging for now.
Thank you all for your support over the years.


The Weekend

Have you ever had a perfect weekend?
No, me neither…
…until now.

It came from nowhere.
I had a few plans.
Nothing crazy.
It just seemed like any other weekend.

I’ve been volunteering at the Absolut Fringe Festival over the last couple of weeks and was due to work a shift on Friday (after my actual job).
The theatre space was a bit of a distance from where I live, so I wasn’t overly enthusiastic about the whole thing.
And then last minute, my shift was changed to a performance space a short walk from my apartment.
With two hilarious shows on.
That I got to watch while working.

“Good grief, that was a spot of good luck, old chap,” I said to no one in particular, as I left the theatre at 10pm

The cold I’d felt coming on since that morning had disappeared and I was feeling very good about life.
Upon hearing that a friend who had popped home from Germany for a few days was partaking in act of alcohol consumption at a nearby tavern with some other friends of mine, I made a crazy decision not to call it a night and to join them, despite my less-than-pretty Volunteering outfit.
Really good decision.
Really good night.
Which ended up in Charlies and as I’ve told you all before, boys and girls, every good night ends with chicken balls and curry sauce in Charlies.
Although technically it didn’t end there at 3.30am, for there was another group of friends just around the corner who occupied me for another hour, bless their hearts.

Saturday morning, I was up bright and early to witness one of the greatest rugby games I’ve seen in years, which resulted in an Irish win over an Australian side.
“This is unreal,” I told EVERYONE I’ve ever know. “If Dublin wins the All-Ireland Final tomorrow, this will be the greatest weekend of my life.”
Saturday afternoon was spent chatting and drinking tea with The Bessie and that night was a rather a cosy affair, the details of which will not be shared in this space.
Moving on.

And so I found myself sitting in front of a tiny screen the following afternoon, watching the Dublin v Kerry GAA match online.
I felt sick, my stomach was cramping up with the stress of the occasion, my nails were bitten into non-existence and I was cursing like a sailor and gasping like a fish out of water (or something to that effect).
It was close.
I didn’t think I could deal with a loss to Kerry after seeing how well we were playing.
And when the ball sailed through the posts during the last minute, giving us that narrow lead, it was just too much to cope with.
I was in floods of tears.
We’d won.
We actually won.
It was unbelievable.
16 years and The Sam was back in Dublin.
Words just won’t do the feeling justice.

That night I curled up on the couch in my pjs with the Work Girls as we introduced The Roomie to the Gilmore Girls.
Sure, I could’ve gone out to the pub to celebrate with the rest of my fellow Dubs, but I was so genuinely happy, it seemed like a waste to blur it all into a haze by drinking.

I woke up in a ridiculously cheery mood this morning and despite the fact that the streets were packed with annoying student tourists who stroll along in loud giant groups that you can’t get by, I failed to succumb to the bad mood that would usually have taken me down.
I was still smiling as I walked into work.
It’s going to be a good week.

The Email

Dear C,

My sincere apologies for the delay in writing this email.
As requested I am writing an email about my life.
I am performing near or at expectations.

Currently my life involves getting up at 6.45am, getting ready for work and leaving my house at 7.30am. I get into work at around 8.00am where I go about my random tasks (speaking of random tasks, did you know that the guy who played Random Task in the first Austin Powers movie was recently put in jail for torture and rape? Who’d have thought! But I digress!)

My house is going fine. I appear to be very messy. It is such a burden to be both messy and a clean freak at the same time. I mean, I want things to be really clean but I don’t have the time (cant be bothered) to clean up!!
I am considering hiring a cleaner but have no idea how to go about it! I mean, do you think I just go and find a Mexican like they do in The States? (or the European Mexican equivalent……..Eastern European?)
I’m guessing I don’t give them a key, which means I have to be there when they are cleaning?….making awkward small talk…
“so how long have you been in a cleaner….?”
“do you miss the mother country…?”
“so that’s what the attachment on the hoover is for…!”
…the effort of that!!!

But living along is fun!  I like it loads. Work is soul destroying but pays the mortgage so I cant complain!

How goes your apartment? And your life? We should meet up soon!

Apologies for the Dawson Creek thing…….liar!

Kindest of Regards,

The Magic Faraway Spree

“I’m sooooo poor,” I sighed dramatically, flopping into a spare chair beside Work Chum.
“Me too,” she said forlornly.
“I just don’t have any money anymore,” I said. “It’s all gone on rent and bills and groceries, although I used to have more left over than I do now…I don’t know what’s happened!”
“I hate being an adult,” she said, thumping down on her keyboard.
“Yeah, me too!” I agreed. “I miss shopping. I miss it so much. My wardrobe just seems so stale and boring now. I need lots of money – a second job or a Lotto win maybe?” I added another dramatic sigh for effect. “I could do with a good healthy shopping spree! I really need a nice new winter coat and some lovely dresses. And shoes! And skirts that aren’t halfway up my arse, because I appear not to have bought a skirt since I was 19 and in college, when it was acceptable to have skirts that short.”
Work Chum laughed.
“And oh God, I need to revamp my underwear drawer,” I said, swinging in the swivel chair. “It’s just depressing at this stage and girls need nice underwear.”
“Yup,” she agreed.
“Not that I have manky greying knickers or anything,” I clarified quickly. “But you know, living with your long-term boyfriend means you stop worrying about how pretty your underwear is or if you’ve nice matching sets. He already knows all your girl secrets and how lace and silk is not a daily occurrence.”
I thought for a second.
“Where do you even by nice underwear these days when you’re an adult?” I asked. “I used to go to La Senza but that’s kind of tacky now.”
“Yeah, I never go there,” Work Chum told me. “I go to M&S.”
“Oh really?”
“Yup or Brown Thomas.”
“Oh yeah, there are some beautiful pieces in there, but they’re all so expensive,” I said.
She nodded. “But I have to go to those places to get bras to fit me.”
“You’re so lucky though,” I told her.
She shook her head. “No, it’s not that fun.”
“Eh, not that fun is being a AA cup up until about two years ago. I was was stuck with training bras or the occasional teeny A cup,” I told her. “It was only when I went on The Pill that I actually got boobs and even now…” I looked down. “Well they’re getting smaller again, because I’ve come off it…I should really get back on it. Just for boobs.”
“Ha, ha ha ha, ‘just for boobs’. But seriously it’s tough,” she told me. “And the bras don’t look that nice – they’re HUGE!”
I laughed. “At least it’s feminine though! You have a lovely curvy shape! I just go straight down in a line.”
We laughed.
“It’s so stressful,” she said.
“Indeed it is,” I agreed. “I think I’ll just go back to vests.”

The Unknown Number

*walking into The Roomie’s room with a toothbrush shoved in my mouth on Friday night*

Me: Just letting you know that CDG is coming over soon.
The Roomie: Oh cool. I had a text from a strange number earlier asking me to go for coffee if I was around. I think it might be that stalker guy.
Me: Oh really? How do you know?
The Roomie: Well I don’t – I didn’t reply – but it was written in the way he normally writes texts.
Me: *brushing teeth* Hmmm, well you lost a lot of number when your phone got stolen so it might be someone you actually like. Oh like that guy you went out with that time! You should reply.
The Roomie: No, because if it’s Stalker Guy, I’ve refused to answer his texts for the last six months, and if it is him, he’ll kick it all off again!
Me: But if it’s Date Guy, then you might put him off.
The Roomie: Hmmmm….
Me: Why don’t you ring the number off my phone and see if you recognise the voice?
The Roomie: No, because if it’s him, he might recognise my voice!
Me: But you’re ringing off a strange number, so it wouldn’t even occur to him that it would be you.
The Roomie: I don’t know…oh wait! Isn’t there that thing where you put a number into the phone number while you’re dialing and then you go straight through to voicemail!?
Me: *shrugs shoulders* *tries to stop toothpastey spit from dripping down chin*
The Roomie: I think you put in a ‘5’ after the first three numbers and then dial the rest.
Me: Mkay, what’s the number?
The Roomie: *calls out number*
Me: *dials* What’s the Stalker Guy”s name?
The Roomie: Aodhan
Me: Cool. Gah! There’s a computer voice! It’s telling me to do stuff! Oh God….uhm…Gah! *hangs up* So that didn’t work then.
The Roomie: Ah ok.
Me: So do you want me to just ring?
The Roomie: Yes please.
Me: *dials again* It’s ringing. Oh God I’m really nervous now.
The Roomie: Keep your toothbrush in your mouth…it disguises your voice!
Me: Ok. Wait hold on, he doesn’t know me!! I’m going…eeep!
Phone Voice: Hello?
Me: Gah, uhm Hello! Eh…who is this?
Phone Voice: Hello?
Me: *making wild gestures at The Roomie* Oh, uhm, God I’m sorry, I actually think I might have the wrong number.
Phone Voice: Who are you looking for?
Me: *don’t say Aodhan, don’t say Aodhan, don’t say Aodhan* Uhm….Ao….ah, Brian. I’m looking for Brian. But, em, this is the wrong number.
Phone Voice: *laughs* Yes it is.
Me: Really sorry about that!
Phone Voice: No worries, have a nice night.
Me: You too! *hangs up* Brian!? Brian. Brian!?? I panicked and went to say his actual name and then moved to the next letter of the alphabet…and came up with ‘Brian’!
The Roomie: So who was it!?
Me: A boy, so well, we’ve narrowed it down to a boy. Which isn’t that helpful. He sounds nice though, so maybe not Stalker Boy. He sounds D4ish, but Nice D4ish, not Knob D4ish. *does impression* “Have a nice night”. Right, that actually just sounded exactly like my own voice.
The Roomie: We probably should’ve put it on loud speaker.
Me: Yeah….that was a really terrible plan….

The Blues

This is a Blue post.
They’re rare these days, so I’m sure you can handle it.
I can’t always be hilarious….jeeeeeez!
While I am happier than I remember being in a long time, while my sad-making body chemicals are finally starting to right themselves and while everything seems a little clearer and a little brighter, there are Blue Moments.

I guess, you don’t just get over a relationship like the one I had with Him.
Sure, I’ve distracted myself from it.
I’ve pushed it down under lots of other things.
I’ve been very practical and factual about it on the surface.
And I sometimes I really do think ‘Hey this isn’t so bad!”

But most of the time, all I’m dealing with is what’s on the surface.
Because I don’t think I can deal with all of it at once.
I think I’m fine – I think I’m making progress – and then I realise I’m really not.
It overwhelms me and I know I’ve been kidding myself.
It’s still a ‘thing’.
It still hurts.
And I curl up into a tight little ball and stay very still and very quiet for a little while.

And then I feel better.
I feel brighter.
I still feel we made the right decision.

Most of the time, I feel I’ve moved on.
Other times it feels like I never will.
And it’s made me afraid.
Afraid to open up to someone new.
Afraid to be any more than ‘casual’.
Because moving on means letting go.
It also means stepping into The Unknown.
Being vulnerable and risking being hurt like the many times it happened before Him.
Being with Him was safe and warm and just full of love.
He was my home.
It was never like that with anyone else.

Right now, I don’t think I can be hurt again.
And I don’t know if I can find someone to make me feel like that again.
But I do have hope.
And I do know that this feeling isn’t forever.
I can already see how much progress I’ve made since it all happened.
And I know I can’t stay in this one place – this limbo – forever.
Moving on is a good thing.
A scary thing.
But a good thing.

I’m tentative and I’m building up walls.
But I’m leaving gaps between the bricks.
Just in case.

The Creative Process

Now and again I get emails from new bloggers asking how I come up with so many things to post about and how I discipline myself to write regularly.
Almost as if I have some sacred writers’ secret that allows me to put lots of words on a page/screen effortlessly.
The truth is I’m a bit of a mess when it comes to posting.
I’m far too easily distracted and if I’m planning to post, I need to factor in an extra three hours beforehand during which I tire myself out and waste my life with random distractions until BOOM suddenly I’m in The Zone and I can post.
I’m just really lucky that I’m a very quick writer, so that when I actually hit on an idea and find the concentration to document it, I can get it down before something shiny takes me away again.
I’d be screwed if I was one of those meticulous people who need to get it ‘perfect’ and spend DAYS editing and re-editing.

On Sunday, I made myself sit down and put together some posts for the week.
I opened the blog, a song came on iTunes and I thought “Oooo I wonder if I can play that on the ukulele” and I was gone.
17  songs later, I was recording myself plaingy a part that I couldn’t figure out the chords for (usually I record, listen back and go Duh, I need to go higher/lower/whatever here – I become a little deaf after a while with the uke) and when I clicked the Stop button, I must’ve double-clicked, because it started recording again.
Without me knowing.
Thankfully there was no nose-picking on my part.
And so here’s two-hours-and-15-minutes of my creative process smushed into a 4-minute video.
Youtube-watching, Facebook-chatting, clothes-washing – pretty much everything but actual writing.
Until the veeeeeery end….when I realise the webcam is recording….