Scare

It's not over yet, but at least it's less scary now. A very different future might yet be in store. Wait and see, wait and see.

Dear Doctor

Am I creating an expectation subconsciously? You wanted things slow? Now they lack passion. Do you know what you want? Is it my sinister moustache?

May it's that you didn't know what you wanted from me, because it wasn't me you wanted it from. Logical and rational pairing is different from emotional and sexual want and need.

Maybe I'm a more emotional person. I guess you like the idea of me, more than actual me.

Is some part of you terrified of any kind of commitment? A month in the future is too much, it sets off an avalanche of worry, of babbling protests.

A thousand potential futures flash before my eyes. You think you're remote, you think too much? Welcome to my world!

You seemed much more relaxed when you, well, relaxed.

Possibly it's a sign of desperation on both our parts, but I have not fared well from my two passionate relationships. Are we past passion? Is there a certain age, when we have stopped trusting innately? And everyone is investigated?

Or is there a time for settling?

Letter

I went for my own solo thinking session yesterday, though I did it on foot. My longest ever run - out to the M50 and back. Not quite as far as Trim. :P

Just wanted to write a closing note. I think you're great, and I was always fond of you. I really enjoyed the wee time we had - except maybe for the first part of that first day when I was still a bit hungover. The goodnight kiss was worth it though. I don't think I gave you the courting you deserved, I should've swept you off your feet more - I was far too relaxed about it being friends already.

Anyway, your head is where it is, and I don't begrudge you that, nor do I envy you it. I hope when you get to a more settled place you let me take you out for dinner again, and in the meantime if you need a distraction, or fancy a spin and a swim, just drop me a line. I'm never too far away.

x

Going through the motions

Sometimes I feel like I'm just going through the motions, filling my days with activities and socialising so that I don't have a chance to stop and think, to realise and confront that loneliness which dwells within.

I've become so argumentative about hypothetical relationships, about possibilities. Pessimistic on behalf of others. I've given up looking, to give myself an excuse? Or once bitten...? Am I self-sabotaging, or just insecure?

I dreamt of my own death last night, falling into the sea, accepting my fate, and whatever comes next... the darkness of oblivion. It was welcome in the dream, like a new adventure, an exploration of the great beyond.

Maybe I just miss the excitement of travelling, everyone is settling down, and dragging me with them. Can I afford a comfortable home life while still getting away? Definitely need to get that promotion. Need to get my head right, make a list and cross it off. A place of own? A space of my own. I can't restrict myself to doing one thing and doing it well, can I do everything, and still do them well?

T1

I've spent the last week with this pain in my stomach, this knot, this ball of worry. I don't notice when I'm hungry anymore, because the hunger pains are disguised by the constant ache.

I sleep little.

Yesterday evening I had a glass of whisky, followed by one more. Then I lay on my bedroom floor, and cried for my friend. I cried for his wife. For his parents. For hers. For me.

The outlook is bleak.

Rollercoaster

Tuesday night I celebrated two friends getting engaged, two friends coming home, and my own win of a sizeable and prestigious trophy.

Wednesday morning I learned that my best mate may never walk again. 

Death by car

There was a woman knocked down around the corner from my current abode, on Tuesday night at 6.35pm. She was 90 years old, on the way home from mass. She was a friend of my grandmother. These are the facts.

The road she was crossing is a wide one, but one with no pedestrian crossing. It's often used as a rat run, being in a residential area, but parallel to the main Drumcondra Road.

She was hit by a car. She died.

My presumption is that the driver was on the way home from work, using the road as a rat run. The road is wide, and cars often turn into it fast, knowing there is no tight cornering to be done. I presume the driver turned fast into the corner, and could not stop before hitting this woman. Which means that the driver was going too fast.

Why would someone drive fast? To get home from work quicker.

So a woman was killed, because somebody else wanted to get home from work quicker.

The driver is likely traumatised by the event.

I wonder if any charges will be pressed.

Countryside

There's a particular ability of the countryside to make you feel more alive. Everything is heightened, everything seems more vivid, more real. The wind blows stronger, the sun shines warmer. Even the rustling silence that the bustling city denies seems more deafening. You sit quiet in awe, the power of nature, of god. This place, so little of which is manmade, resounds with simple beauty.

Somewhere in the Pilbara

Once again I feel like everyone else is in a race, and I am yet to put my runners on. M&S are engaged, A&S are expecting, as are M&J. C&L are moving in together, while N&A have their own place. C&T have long achieved domestic bliss. J&E have bought their house. K&E, L&P - names only uttered in pairs. Everyone is growing up, and I seem to be stuck in some self-pitying limbo, dreaming of F, and leaving potential relationships unfulfilled along the way. I don't have the guts to make a leap, to jump into the unknown. I need someone to push or pull me.

Perth

It wasn't my intention to be cool and aloof on first encounter, but that's probably how it came across. A little shorter than expected, but more beautiful in person. Odd to hear the Australian accent, not sure why. Not how I pictured a first meeting. I think our lives have grown so separate - we have fallen out of touch as adults.

Siberia

So here I am, two weeks in. Once again I find myself playing to people's expectations, fitting into a role they subconsciously define, and I half-consciously fulfil. This fucking caricature of myself, crossed with a stereotypical goofy Irishman. This yammering eejit who talks too much, who can no longer let silences reign for long. I'm like a hyperactive child. If I keep this up for much longer, nobody will be able to stand me. I won't be able to stand me.

Which brings me to the purpose of this whole trip. Primarily there are places I want to visit, to see, to experience and explore! To meet the Australians. To break from my daily routine at home. But I'll be returning to that.

Am I searching for something? For 'me'? To find myself? To find the future Ms Me? To show others I can do it - roam free for six months? But what kind of freedom ends at a comfy desk job? Am I still running from F? Trying to leave V and I behind? All the stupid things I've done over the past five years. What have I been doing for that time? Am I trying to make the couples jealous? Those who I can't help by envy. Settled, stable, happy.

Self-assessment is never positive at 1am. Fin.

yay

The traditional proverb states that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, but I'm beginning to disagree. You can't miss what you never had, and likewise, you don't know what you have 'til it's gone.

I'm despondent of late. My siblings have been bothering me, an eejit of a taxi driver used his indicator to assume automatic right-of-way over me on the way home. I feel trapped by the scouts, but the sense of letting them down if I were to pull out would be too much.

My friends are happily coupled... do I resent them? Is that what this is? With their apartments and houses that they call their own. Their separate lives entwined around and within each other, supporting, nurturing, helping, loving.

Instead I surround myself with stuff. Items. Goods. Things. The things I said I could live without. CDs. DVDs. Alcohol. yay.

So old

Sometimes I feel like giving up - I feel so old, like I've lived hundreds of lives packed into this lifetime - an eternity of experiences tearing me apart at the seams. Sometimes I don't know who I am, sometimes I don't know where I stand. The sky reflects my emotions, but only if I can tell it what i'm feeling. It's the pain that reminds us we're still alive.

Maturity and/or Motivation

I caught sight of myself in a mirror while walking up the stairs the other day. It evoked a sudden introverted inspection. I'm essentially the same person as I was when I was 15. Same house, same room. Still eat dinner as prepared by my mother. I work a part-time job in a shop. I cycle everywhere, or get the bus. I have no significant other, and I still find it difficult to approach people with an eye toward that sort of thing. Really I just stack up mountains of friends, for which I'm grateful of course, but every now and then I wish I had someone who was more than a friend. My thoughts return constantly to two different women, in two different countries, neither of which are the one in which I'm currently residing. One has too many man troubles already, and the other is in a similar situation, only I'm the cause of her troubles.

The only differences between me and my teen self lie in my accomplishments. I've completed my education, travelled a fair bit, and met countless unique and wonderful people. Sadly, that doesn't look so hot on a CV.

Giruffes

My ex-girlfriend and I used to have a thing about giraffes. They were one of several motifs in our relationship - what noise they made, their long, slender necks, the purpose of the zogabongs...

 

The end result is that every time I see a giraffe, I am reminded of her. Up to recently, I had several little model giraffes sitting on my bookshelf that I had never quite gotten around to getting rid of. But after an encounter with her a couple of weeks ago left me with a bitter taste in my mouth, I decided I had to chuck them.

One was a photograph holder, which I don't use, but still plan to, so he's been relocated to my photo stash. One was a gift from my mother, and has been relegated to storage. Another was a quite beautiful wood carving, and I decided it would be a crime to throw it away, so it was placed in storage as well. Next to the parcel containing various souvenirs of this girl. I'm very much a hoarder - of information, of objects, of memories. So understand my reluctance and my pain, at then disposing of two perfectly innocent giraffes in my rubbish bin.

They're gone now, like her, and I'm finding myself able to live with that. Unexpectedly.

Empty Walks

 

Every now and then I go for a ramble. Or often a cycle. Just go, myself and my camera, trying to find... what? Some peace? Solace? Comfort?

The mountains on a weekday are almost always deserted, empty. Nothing but the sound of the wind, the glare of the sun or the patter of the rain, and the occasional sheep disturbs one's reverie.

Looking back, I went on those walks to get away from it all, but in that isolation all you have is what's inside your head, and it tends to dwell on what you're trying to get away from.

Next time, I'm bringing my whiskey flask.

The past two years...

I've lost my ability to think analytically. I've lost a portion of my eyesight, making me ever further myopic. My memory and concentration have both degraded significantly. I lost too much money through gambling. I managed to sustain a medium-distance relationship over ten months, then it fell apart when we lived in the same city again. I felt more isolated and alone than I ever have before in my life. I've suffered from depression and anxiety, seen a counsellor, taken a course of Xanax. I kissed a friend that I shouldn't have, and didn't kiss one that I should. I drank my way through half of February and most of March. I had to spend one weekend minding thirty children by myself. I had root canal treatment. I realised too many of my friends are self-centred people.

I discovered who my real friends are. I achieved a Masters qualification (touch wood). I watched and listened to Leonard Cohen play two magical concerts. I didn't drink for just about all of April. I've been to Cork, Cavan, Sligo, Wexford, Louth, Galway, Meath, Inis Mor, Donegal, Clare. I met some amazing people, and befriended many. I travelled around Wales and Cornwall, visited London and Edinburgh several times. I've had two friends get engaged, and two get married. I heard Regina Spektor, Iron and Wine, and Tom McRae all make wonderful music. I holidayed in northern Spain and southern Germany. I cycled across the country, twice. I spent six months getting top-level experience in an ISP. I heard Henry Rollins rant and preach, up close. Thirty kids made my life a richer, more joyful experience. My family are all in good health, and my friends are the greatest people on this planet.

And I sit back and wonder, how much of this could I have done differently? How much would I really want to?

Can't Sleep

I've always had trouble sleeping, ever since I was young. Well, not so much trouble as no desire. Fond memories of reading under the covers with a torch. I even recall setting up an old black and white television, I think Féile was being broadcast at the time. My mother would despair at my nocturnal behaviour, feeding me warm milk, giving me boring books to read, but it never really worked. All through my teens, into my college years - then it became an advantage, being able to stay awake 'til all hours, studying and coding. Some nights I never left the lab.

But now... now as I try to adjust to a 9-5 lifestyle, it's hampering me. I want to sleep, I need to sleep, but my brain has never learned how to shut down at night. It keeps ticking over, making lists, regurgitating old faces, running through the day. Activity that once kept my mind sharp, but now just tires me. I remember days when I could keep reams of information in my head, when I was working on an essay and I could let my subconscious sieve through all the material, and my conscious would just write it. Now it's straight from the reference to my page. I paraphrase, hoping to disguise it, hide my lack of originality. Occasional bursts of inspiration flow out of me, compensating.

Two weeks. In two weeks I won't have to worry about not sleeping anymore. I can do all my sleeping in the day time. Just wait two weeks brain, and you can run all night. But for now, I need a stand by mode.