Pandora's Concrete Box

Not a patch on willpower

2011-05-30T14:04:00.000+01:00

I appear to have agreed to try quitting smoking again last night. Rock God was going on about his plan to quit today and according to himself, in a haze of exhaustion and under the influence of one whole glass of wine, I agreed to join him. I also, if he is to be believed, suggested he stick a patch on me before he went to work so that when I woke up I wouldn't be absolutely gagging for a smoke as usual. There is a hazy memory there, but it's hazy and could have been planted in my head by subliminal suggestion while I slept.

So this morning I woke up. Rock God & Smarty pants were long gone off to work & school and Monkey Boy had given me a great lie-in. I could hear him happily crooning Bob The Builder from his cot and I dragged myself wearily from the folds of my lovely duvet. Got up, got dressed, did potties and washes and dressing (For Monkey boy you see, especially the potty bit) Flopped my way downstairs and plied his little self with juice so I could have a moment for my very favourite morning ritual.

A large glass of diet coke poured, kettle on and off I tripped out into the sunshine to have that glorious first smoke of the day. I sat on my little decking, bathed in sunlight, observing that no plants had died in the night and some had even produced some pretty flowers. Happily checking my emails and texts, completely unaware that I was double-dosing myself with nicotine.

I spent my morning cleaning up after our most excellent little dinner party last night. Snappy cooked her legendary Goulash, brought it over and even cooked the spuds for us!! Being shooed from your own kitchen is one of those anxious moments and I actually found myself watching her in the window, having been exiled to the garden. As if she were going to break the cups and smash the plates, it's not only Bilbo Baggins that hates that you know!! But I digress.... a lot!

I whiled away the morning being all wifely and domestic like the goddess I am, and not emailing and texting like a mad wan, I swear. A smoke here, a smoke there..... Rock God rang me on his tea-break.

"Well?"

"Well, what?" says I.

"Have you been good?"

I paused a moment "eh, yes, I've been very well behaved altogether, what the hell are you talking about?"

"I've only had 1" he gloats.

The conversation slowly swirls in my head and begins to form a blurry picture.

"Am I wearing a patch?" "Eh yeah, you didn't forget did you?"

"Ah bugger!!"

He's been laughing at me all morning, but I'm not gumming for a smoke!! There's always tomorrow eh?!!

Our Story

2011-05-11T14:12:00.000+01:00

They meet in a cloud of smoke. Rock music belting out, straining to hear each other's names. Introductions, handshakes and smiles. Then off again. More distraction.

Weeks later, walking, herself and a friend. They see them on the other side of the road, too far to call. The new boys. Her friend unsure, likes neither much. Wild, she likes the dangerous one, broody dark eyes pull her in.

A nod and a smile as they pass. Months later, she's bagged Dark Eyes, they meet again. In his room this time. Small talk, chit chat, slowly comfort sets in. They're in love, her and Dark eyes, so he's told. He watches, not sure what it is he sees.

Comfort develops into friendship. He makes her laugh, they share a beer, poverty stricken. Rationing cigarettes between them. Dancing to the same songs. She can really talk to him, he listens, he doesn't say much, but that's just his way. She becomes protective of him. Advising him about girls, none are good enough. Dark eyes is still hers, or at least she is his. His eyes are not his only dark feature.

She has a baby girl, he doesn't judge her, not even secretly, he is alone in that. She's young, so is Dark eyes. He visits her in hospital, her baby is sick, she's upset, he makes her laugh, the only one who can. Dark eyes begins to object, he pushes them apart. She misses him but stays away to keep the peace.

Friends, only ever friends, but so close. She begins to see him in a new light. Tanned, muscular, rippling abs, glossy hair, leather jeans, soft brown eyes, so kind but shining with mischief. He still makes her laugh, Dark eyes only ever makes her cry.

A break-up, a messy, nasty one. Her heart shattered. Her friend takes her out, buys her a rose on the way. He's in the bar, head hanging, eyes stung, not shining. Dumped by the latest girl. Hot, they had agreed, amazing ass, but vacuous she thought, and shallow, even if she hadn't shared that. Best without her really. He's crestfallen. She gives him the rose and a little kiss, it'll be ok. They dance. Every weekend from then on they dance. He strokes her hair, holds her tight, smiles with his eyes. Still friends. Why, everyone wonders.

He's living with friends but unhappy. Spending more time in her flat that his. Watching movies, staying up all night, chatting, laughing. Months pass. A stolen kiss here and there but no more. She realises she's in love again, but really this time. She tries to keep it in check. They talk about it, he's afraid, their friendship is precious he argues.

A few weeks later, sitting in her flat, an ad break, their eyes meet. They kiss. Long and soft. The doorbell an interruption, his lift is here. Moment stolen. As he leaves he turns "Be my girlfriend?" "Sure" she grins, her heart exploding in her chest.

A week locked away together. Getting to know new facets of each other. They need a night out. Another cloud of smoke, straining to hear one another again. "Hey" he says, turning to her. "What?" she replies, distractedly, expecting him to ask for a smoke. "I love you". She reciprocates without skipping a beat.

A decade passes. They sit together in the evenings, husband and wife now. They still watch movies, still chat. He still makes her laugh. They dance, arms wrapped around each other, in the kitchen. Their children pushing in to dance with them.

Happiness is....

2011-04-24T19:25:00.000+01:00

A list of some of the little joys in life. In no particular order of wonderfulness.

Shaved legs and clean sheets. In my very humble opinion shaved legs on men is rather un-sexy. I feel sorry for them though, missing out on that indescribable feeling of sliding your smooth pins under fresh linen.

Silence. Not the awkward type, or that heavy, enforced library silence, or even the type imbued with fear and the faint smell of panic that you only get during an exam. Rather what is left when you turn everything off. When everyone in the house goes out, and you're left, alone, with only the soft hum of your harddrive and the tap of the keys as you write. Heaven.

A really proper hard days work, where you've pushed yourself to the very limits of your being. Where you're both mentally and physically exhausted. An ice cold pint, it must be ice cold, and it must be your most favourite beer. The surroundings are of the utmost importance. In winter a cosy bar, with a real fire if possible. In summer a proper beer garden, with benches and flowers. Proper company, people who know your darkest secrets, or with whom you would never hesitate to share them.

Finding the absolute perfect something for someone. Something that screams their name when you see it sitting on the shelf. Packaging it lovingly, ribbons and all. Seeing their face as they open it, it's theirs and it's so very them. I have a bit of a thing about getting people the perfect "them" presents. It means more I think, it means you listened, you thought about it, you know them, you didn't just spend.

The feeling of sunshine on your skin. It's not the healthiest thing in the world, but it feels lovely. It's rare we get it in Ireland but when we do, out we go, half naked to bask in it. I'm not much of a sunbather, I don't stay still easily and I don't tan. I go red, and then slightly less transparent than I was before, but my tan originates in a bottle, and rarely ends up on my skin, far too much trouble. I still go out and stand in it for a bit, feeling the heat on my skin, before I run for the factor 50.

Accidental hilarity. Especially the kind that's almost impossible to recount. The 'you had to be there' variety. Last week Rock god stood in our garden and exclaimed "Me brack!!" (Smarty pants and I had eaten his brack) We laughed 'til tears rolled down our faces. We repeated it at opportune moments when exclamation was required. We got plenty of mileage out of it but I can hardly imagine you're rolling about clutching your sides on reading about it. It's the best kind of hilarity really, even if it means nothing to anyone else.

Going shopping alone. I have a love-hate relationship with shopping. I don't fit in a box in general as far as personalities go, I'm a statistician's nightmare. I'm not girly particularly nor am I anywhere near tomboyish. I get bored shopping, or stressed, or just crestfallen. I love to go alone however, with nothing in particular to shop for and a few spare euro in my pocket. Wandering, looking at everything, finding something different, book shopping, dvd shopping. Treating myself to a hot chocolate half way through and having lunch with myself. I remember being spotted one day having lunch with myself in town by some particularly unsavoury fellow pupils. When I came into school on Monday it was seen to be the most embarrassing thing imaginable. I pitied them terribly for never having had the pleasure of their own company for lunch.

Tea tea tea, how do I love thee, let me count the ways. Actually no, that would take far too long. There's nothing like a cup of tea, it solves all things. No matter how bad a situation there's nothing so bad as can't be improved by a brew.

Jinx!! Or to those too grown up, saying the exact same thing at the exact same time as someone else. I love when it happens, but especially if it's something completely incidental and not just something that naturally follows. Bananas!! That sort of thing.

Having nothing to do. Nothing at all. I realise that is some people's idea of hell. I know my mother would probably expire if she had absolutely nothing to do. There's never actually nothing to do, nature abhors a vacuum and all that, there's always dishes or some sort of tidying or something you could be getting on with. I love when there really isn't though, or at least nothing pressing, and you can pour yourself a cold fizzy drink and curl up on the couch, play a game, peruse the internet, read or just watch tv, bliss!!

No list about happiness would be complete if it didn't mention chocolate. Scientist type people say that it actually creates happiness, or at least produces chemicals in the brain which help with such things. They even say it's healthy and we should eat it every day. It may prevent cancer and stop you getting wrinkles, but I have a feeling they're referring to the 80% cocoa posh yucky stuff, not a dairy milk or anything. As I write I'm munching a mint aero that was just handed to me, a grown-up sort of easter present, not egg shaped but still glorious!!

Many many small, insignificant things, many large important things. Kissing my husband, playing with my kids, chatting with friends, hugging my dad, buying shoes, sparkly anythings, a good book, poetry, music, rambly emails, dancing in the kitchen, beer, nights out, nights in, apples, long soaky baths, cows and their noses, diet coke, deli rolls, candles, love, pride, mum type things, make-and-do, Stephen Fry, cartridge pens, stationary of all kinds, book smell, cheese - not too smelly, words, Ovaltine, palindromes, bad jokes, socks, orgasms, wine, fresh air, growing plants from seed, manatees, sewing boxes, buttons, clever birthday cards, writing, dreaming, ice cubes, cinema popcorn, PVA glue, paint, interior decorating, stand-up comedy, fish fingers and so on and so on. Brown paper packages tied up with string, these are a few of my favourite things.

Pleased to meet you!!

2011-04-19T23:18:00.000+01:00

It's awkward sometimes, meeting someone you've been dying to meet, or seeing someone after a really really long time, which is on par with meeting them for the first time as far as awkwardness goes really isn't it?? I don't do first impressions very well. I tend to be either ridiculously quiet, just let everyone else talk and hope no one notices my existence – or embarrassingly hyper, volume ever rising and saying the most bloody insane things a mile a minute. I know I'm doing these things, whichever it ends up being on the day, but I can't help myself, I really can't!! Drunk is worse, I'm a terrible drunk at the best of times but if you put drunkenness with awkwardness you get guaranteed inappropriateness from me every time.

I was just thinking about something Smarty Pants said the other day. She was commenting on how my dad always chats to people in every shop he goes into. He usually has a nice embarrassing laugh with them too. When I was a teenager I used to wish I had some kind of hole boring device with me so I could get away, now I just find it amusing. She mentioned that I always do it too, although I tend not to mortify people while I do. I do you know, wherever I go, I chat to perfect strangers like I've known them all my life. I love people, they're one of my most favourite things, so chatting to them seems perfectly natural to me. I can't figure out what makes me so fumbly when it's someone belonging to someone I really care about then, a relative I haven't seen in years, a new colleague and so on.

I have a theory. A friend of mine said something a while ago about putting forward the best version of yourself. I think that's it, I'm not entirely enamoured with any versions of me. Now now, don't cry, I don't mean I hate myself or anything. I'm just very self critical, and every version of me that I could put forward would have a flaw or five that I can see. It's this infernal honesty, I can't lie, really!! Well I can but it's blindingly obvious unless you're a bit tick!! I shouldn't be telling you this, now we can never play poker! Not being able to lie means I also can't misrepresent myself, I am what I am, whether I like it or not. I'm just convinced no-one could possibly want to play in my yard!! Maybe Emo would suit me, I think I'll dig out an eyeliner, no-one understands me!!

Let them eat cake!!

2011-04-14T14:15:00.000+01:00

Six years ago I had a bit of a funny head moment, I developed a complete determination to do something that at the time seemed very difficult, almost impossible actually. I decided to fit in my debs dress. To our non Irish cousins that basically means I decided to become the size I was when I was 17. It was a strong determination, my head was just in "that place". This mysterious location we need to have our little brains in to successfully shun buns and chocolate of all kinds, chips and all!! That special place that allows you to force yourself to the gym after a mind alteringly stressful day at work.

Not one to do things by halves, I changed my lifestyle entirely. I don't believe in diets, except maybe as a springboard to start you off losing weight. I think in order to do it successfully you have to change everything. Cut out bad stuff, but allow yourself a treat now and then, dinners out, party food etc. Eat a proper balanced diet, lots of yummy healthy stuff, and move, a lot!! There's no secret to it really, we all know how to do it. It took time, but that was ok, I wanted to do it slowly, carefully, and properly.

Two years into it Rock God proposed and I got seriously serious, determined that my wedding dress would be the size of my debs dress, if not the colour (black - total goth!!) I think this was where it all started to go wrong however. Now I had a focus, a goal, a date by which I had to be skinny Minnie. And I did it!! Two weeks before the wedding I took down my debs dress, blew off the dust and slipped one leg, then the other into its satin folds. It may have been black but it was truly magnificent, I wish I could wear it every day. Rock God zipped me up and there it was, 17 year old me in all her glory. I walked down the aisle a fortnight later in the antithesis of that dress, ivory with gold threading, still with a corset, but without the many folds of satin, just a simple ivory skirt. I felt a million dollars, and I looked it if I do say so myself, which I do!! I had done it, I had beaten myself into a dress, to borrow a phrase from this brilliant blog of the same name.

That was it though, I had done it. It was done. Of course it wasn't really, yes I fit in the debs dress, yes I had a teeny wedding dress but I wouldn't forever.

The light had gone out, the switch in my brain just flipped itself off. Over the next 3 years between honeymoon, pregnancy, being stay at home mummy extrordinaire, not having time nor inclination to get the the gym, I put all or most of it back on.

In February Smarty Pants made her confirmation. I bought a lovely pair of trousers in the size I thought I was, in a mad rush I never tried them on. I brought them home and, no reader, not a bit of it. Tantalisingly close but no cigar. They point blank refused to close. The switch flipped back on. I had 3 weeks til the confirmation, I employed every tactic I knew, every trick in the book. I wore those trousers on the day, they looked great, albeit hidden at the waist by a nicely forgiving top. I was bet into them as we say in Dublin, but I was in them. Two months on and they're a bit loose to tell the truth.

No more deadlines, no more goals, no more doing things for the wrong reasons. My deadline now is the end of the road, the time for kicking buckets. I don't plan to ever let myself get back into this state again, my body is a temple, be it one with the odd offering of beer and cake!!

I solemnly swear that I am up to no good (or at least I was)!!

2011-03-30T13:42:00.000+01:00

Smarty pants brought home a lovely laminated certificate from school yesterday. At first I assumed it was an award of some sort. It turned out to be a promise, there laminated in black and white, that she would never use drugs and would not drink alcohol until she is 18. I asked was she given a choice about this, she said no, they were told to sign them and hand them back up.

As a parent I'm torn about how I should feel about this. On one hand I should be delighted that my daughter is promising things like this and that the school are pressing such issues. On the other hand it's complete bulls*#t, it means nothing, it's not a real promise. To the kids it's just writing your name on a piece of paper because you were told to.

I know this and the kids know it too. The problem with how we deal with these things is that the education system so often fails to see kids as human beings who deserve respect, honesty and not to be patronised. If they just got someone in to talk to them to say look, I know you'll be presented with drugs and alcohol before you're 18. I know a lot of you will probably drink before then and some of you may experiment with drugs. So just don't be an idiot. Don't get yourself an addiction that will take over your life and destroy it and those of everyone around you. Don't get yourself into situations where you're drunk in an unsafe environment where someone could take advantage of you etc. If they got people who have fallen foul of these things to come and talk to them it would probably help too. At the very least they should be honest with them and not just get them to sign pieces of paper against their will that they know mean nothing.

They had a talk on smoking yesterday as well. The guy appears to have been a bit of an idiot. He went way way over the top with the effects of smoking. Exaggerating them so far beyond the truth that my daughter who despises smoking found him ridiculous. The thing is the kids see through this crap. They all know someone who smokes, they see people smoking every day so to tell them that a 40 year old person who's smoked all their adult life will definitely look 60 or 70 is just insulting their intelligence and breeding a mistrust of the type of people who give these talks.

I suppose the issue itself and the dealing with it scares me too. We're heading, swift as a bullet for teenage-dom. I was not a good little girl, in fact I was very very very naughty indeed!! If it was taboo or forbidden I did it, if it made you high, low, laugh, cry, hallucinate penguins growing out of postboxes I sniffed it, drank it, smoked it, ate it. Loathe as I am to admit it, most of it never did me any harm what-so-ever!! I became addicted to almost nothing because I never did many of them more than once or twice. Yes, I smoked, became addicted and still am addicted to nicotine, but of all the other things I did, to have that be the only lasting consequence is a bit of a feat I think. Especially since some of the most well behaved people I know are as hooked on the fags as I am!!

So where the school and the education system fails I am supposed to pick up the slack. I am supposed to talk to my daughter frankly and openly about smoking, drink and drugs and their effects. Fecked if I'm going to be honest with her about drink and drugs. The smoking she knows all about, she knows I smoke like a bleedin chimney. She hates it, but it wouldn't surprise me if she did it at some point. I just hope she never ends up as completely hopelessly hooked as I am.

As for drink, I can see it now. Well Smarty Pants, I once drank so much vodka that I blacked out while still upright and walking, screaming my loaf off wandering some of the dodgyest streets in Dublin (and that was the least embarrassing, most blog-worthy example I could find) So eh, never drink that much vodka, ok!! And drugs. Well, my little girl, I remember doing mushies in Rembrant Square in Amsterdam once and losing about 3/4 of a day, in which I'm sure we wandered about and did things but to this day none of us can remember what they were (most definitely the tamest example I could think of and least likely to get me in any large amount of trouble, I didn't inhale and all that) So eh yeah, don't do drugs, drugs are bad m'kay!!

Obviously I can hardly tell her these things and the stance, if not the approach of the education system is one I agree with. Life is precious and interesting and exciting, it is not worth risking it all for one cheap high. The real highs in life are much more valuable and sustained than anything you can get from the grimy jacket of a dodgy looking bloke on O'Connell St. Drugs are bad, but in fairness, you can't beat an ice cold pint on a hot day!! Oh my!!

Melancholy And The Infinite Blog Post

2011-03-25T19:27:00.000+00:00

It's odd when you haven't done something for a long time it feels like doing it for the first time. It should be fresh and new then shouldn't it. Or stagnant and old with a new mask on.

There's no excuse, so I won't try to make one. I haven't written anything in ages. No, that's a lie! I've written a lot of things, too long, too short, too boring, too personal, too...me! Me is quiet, reflective, drab and dreary. Me is silently, slowly drifting off somewhere. Domestic bliss remains, cleaning, dusting, cooking, slowly disappearing. There have been breaks in the monotony, but few, and disappointing, not living up to what a break from the banal should be.

I discovered this post yesterday http://theantiroom.wordpress.com/2010/11/15/being-depressed-just-means-youre-not-a-moron/ Winner of the 2011 Irish Blog Awards best post accolade, gong, or whatever you'd like to call it. The post and it's author deserve it a million fold. It is the single most perfect description of what it feels like to suffer severe depression that I have ever read. I have been almost exactly where she describes, months worth of laundry and old pasta included. That was many many moons ago and I have since escaped the clutches of my bed. I should feel good about sharing this, about being open and honest and talking about the disease that has shaped my life. I should feel proud to have come through the worst of it, ready to show others the path through, to display the light at the end of the tunnel. I don't. I feel awkward, long legged, plaster on glasses bumping into furniture awkward.

This post has sat unfinished for the last week. I've popped in and had a look at it, you know, to make sure it was doing alright, but I just couldn't finish it, until now. Yesterday evening I was telling Rock God about the above post. How the author so terrifyingly accurately describes my life in my early 20's. "Remember I used to call over" he said, "and there you'd be sitting in the bed, surrounded by, stuff, a half finished sliced pan, a jar of miracle whip, bottles of coke, books, all sorts of everything". "Yeah", I replied, "I remember, mad really to think where we've come from." "I suppose", says he, "you were much happier then though" and he walked away casually, not a bother on him, leaving me holding my sense of self in my hands.

Surely that couldn't be true. Surely I'm much happier now. I get up every morning, I wear proper clothes, I shower, I use my bed for sleeping and folding laundry, occasionally for bouncing Monkey boy on but never for living in. I clean, I cook, I chat to friends, I do "normal" things. So I must be happier than I was then, I'm a lot better than I was then. Aren't I? Or is it that even at my most depressed, even at the lowest depths of my misery, I had a grasp on who I really am, I knew who I was and I was who I was. Now I seem to have lost that, I'm beige, I'm transparent, I'm not really me, therefore I'm not really here. Maybe that's why I seemed happier then, I hadn't lost whatever it was I had.

Pretty Little Things

2011-02-03T13:34:00.002+00:00

I love the internet!! I've been enraptured by it since the days of running down to the local net cafe to download a game on to a floppy disk to bring home and play on my 486. I love how it's grown, I am delighted it has been adopted by almost everyone, for almost everything. It makes the world feel smaller, more cosy. The opportunities are endless. I thought every now and then I'd share my personal favourite bits of it, for your perusal. So here are a lot of links:

My theme of the day is pretty things, in no particular order of brilliance:

Baglady Designs

I love the way this girl draws, her characters seem to come alive with her pencil strokes. Her whimsical antique theme is so attractive to me. I have met her and she is just as lovely as her art suggests. Find her on Facebook and give her a "like"

Orisinal games

I discovered this site years ago. The games are great fun and rather addictive but that's not what sets it apart from any other game site. It's the beauty of it all, the art, the music, the sweetness. When you play the games you find yourself relaxing, sinking into the chair, it's lovely.

Lisa Lectura Creations

I only discovered this last week. I love the innocence of it, the art is just so, well, pretty, which makes it fit perfectly in this list.

Laura Nagle Photography

I may be slightly biased here but if I was doing these in any order this would be number 1. Laura has been taking photos since before she could say her R's properly. So much care goes into every picture. She really pours her soul into it and brings out the soul of her subject. I am her biggest fan in every way possible. Find her on Facebook I know you'll "like" her!! She promises she's working on sorting out a website too.

Etsy

No shop in particular, just the whole thing. A whole collection of pasta pictures and bowls made of lollipop sticks, well maybe not but it's all hand made and that's what makes it special.

Deviantart

Again just in general, I love having a nose about on it. The level of talent just astounds me sometimes.

Cakes Unlimited

The most amazing and very beautiful cakes you'll ever see. They're also incredibly delicious, I can attest to this because I got my wedding cake here. Even if you don't need a cake for anything in particular it's fun looking through the pictures, and inspiring in a making you want cake kind of way.The yummy Facebook page can be found here

National Botanic Gardens of Ireland

This my haven, my absolute favourite place in Dublin. We go there a lot while Smarty Pants is at her DCU courses. It is the most peaceful place. Very much worth a visit for anyone who likes a nice stroll.

Daily Squeeeeeeeeeeeeee!!

I have a net nanny on the pc for Smarty Pants, otherwise who knows what she'd be looking at. It doesn't allow Google image searches for obvious boobie related reasons. She loves cute things of all kinds but especially animals. I email her pictures from here all the time. Great for a proper squeeeee!!

Precious Art Effects

I don't know how Marc would feel about his site being added to a list of pretty things. It may not be pretty in the conventional sense but his art has its own beauty, albeit a sort of nerdy beauty!!

Recave

A fantastic blog with loads of unusual art, design utilities, inspiring ideas. Another one for having a wander about.

Stuff no one told me

Hilarious and very wise, the illustrations are fantastic, always worth a look. You never know, you might learn something.

James Hance - Relentlessly cheerful art

As the name suggests this really is a whole heap of relentlessly cheerful art, I defy anyone not to at least break a little grin. Fantastic stuff.

I'm sure there are plenty more but I think that's enough for today. If you have any to suggest please leave a comment, I love discovering new sites. I hope this fills your afternoon with pretty things, just how it should be on a lovely springy day.

Back in time...

2011-02-01T12:38:00.000+00:00

It's been a week for reminiscing. Not exactly the fluffy romantic sort, more a dip into a murkier part of my past. I look on it with a fondness all the same, like the affection you have for an old book, no matter how painful its story may be to read.

My beautiful daughter turned 12 last week, lets take a moment for that to sink in. 12. In half that again plus 1 she'll be the age I was when I had her. Stupid and scared, full of unfounded confidence, "knowing" everything already. Waiting for this little creature to come along and change my life forever. She was tiny, but her impact was enormous. I'd like to say I became the model responsible parent overnight, but I didn't. I decided it was fairest to move out and make it on my own, possibly the least selfish decision I've ever made regarding my parents, even if it was made more for my freedom than for theirs. I moved out when I was pregnant, into a shoebox, one room divided in 4. You could touch both walls from the centre of the room. Obviously this wouldn't do for fitting tiny babies and their huge amount of paraphernalia. I moved again 2 weeks before she was born. This was to become my home for the next 4 years. The paint peeling away, water trickling down the walls, a petri dish of mould and fluff.

I came across this poem this week, the author is a friend of my cousins, it feels familiar somehow so I thought I should share it. The collection is called The View From Here and it's by Sara Berkeley:

Dark Summer Days

I have written my daughter to sleep.

She lies in the other bed among her books and toys,

the bowed and weathered instruments of her navigation.

In fragile possession of her course

and her own short set of ship's orders

she steps bravely out with me onto the burning waters.

We travel in this single room

where the nails are growing out of the wood

and the paint flakes off the window ledge.

On dark summer days when rising is difficult

this is my Parisian garret, my narrow turret,

my writers attic with its high beams and precious dust;

it is here I hunker down and shout into the dark,

some nights nothing, some nights

starbursts of language, jubilant at their release.

Across the fearless moon

hastens what little sky we can see; what few trees

stand in the mornings with their arms out;

through every time zone their same song

fills the loudness of being alone,

together, in the gentle rocking of our sea-glass room.

In her sleep my girl is made of sand,

but at first light she's a young redwood

driving up like a mast through the sea foam;

and as for me, even if no words come,

I'll be here waiting by the window in the pre-dawn

before the birds.

Here we existed, here we slept, here we ate. The park was our garden, the city our living room. Raised on the go you could say. My little companion, my sidekick. She may have been small but her mind had to grow, she had to talk, she had to excite and entertain, survival depends on these things. To be seen, to be noticed, to break through the chatter of 20-somethings in coffee shops, she sang her heart out, she amazed and intrigued with her ever widening vocabulary. My shadow, ever at my feet, I carried on regardless, living much the same life as I would have, minus the college part I had planned. Weekends saw her shipped off to adoring relatives, otherwise she was with me, with friends, hanging out, having party after party, she sang or slept through it all. Her resilience astounds me now, it meant nothing to me then.

You may notice I've been a bit singular in my description of the whole experience. It takes two to tango you might say, where does mister sperm donor extrordinaire feature in all of this?? Not exactly the immaculate conception then. He lasted the first year, there he existed too, and slept, but little else. Our lives and our hearts separated when she came along. He disappeared in a puff of smoke before she was out of nappies, never to be seen again. But his story, that story is another post, perhaps, or perhaps not.

Hubby, or Rock God (I felt he deserved his own name by now, hardly fair him being only described by his relationship to me) was there always, he always had been. My lovely friend, who I was very fond of, but I'd never go out with him, eeew, would be like kissing your brother, I mean he is cute, and I do love him, but not like that....ah youth, how stupidly blind it can be.

It is my belief that you can't exist without family, they brought you here, they make up who you are, for some they are responsible for it. They are every bit of what makes you, You. There to be loved and admired or hated and feared. For spending time with or remembering, good or bad they have to feature somewhere. Mine were everything I could ever have asked for and more besides. She never would be who she is today without them. All of them hold a huge importance but none so much as magical Grandad. He made the world sparkle for her, he showed her everything there was to see and taught her everything there was to learn. He made her laugh, but never cry. His stories became her stories, his effect on her continues to this day, despite the inevitable I know he'll always be there, in her mind, and her heart. He has more to show her yet before he's done, although she fast approaches her time for knowing everything already.

He wrote her this beautiful poem for her birthday. I cried when I read it, huge wet dollops of tears. I cried for the past, for jampot jaws and pudgy legs, for incy wincy spiders and whispy curls. I cried for relief too, for being on the other side of that seemingly insurmountable hill, or for digging myself out of the pit, or whatever metaphor you're having yourself. But I too will never forget her that very first day. He'd rather hide his light under a bushel so I won't post his name, and he never gave it a name either, so this is Beautiful Poem for Smarty Pants, by My Dad:

Twelve years since we met, you were small for your size

They were counting your fingers, your toes (and your eyes)

You melted my insides (we grandads are tough)

I knew you were made out of my kind of stuff.

We crept on the floor, and we hid, and we ran.

And I made a good horse for a nearly old man.

We bounced on the beds (when your Nana was out)

Then we opened the presses and took the stuff out.

I took out my marker and drew little men,

You took out your marker and drew them again

We counted the numbers, the letters made words

We made a nest box and we watched the young birds.

The ice-cream in Teddies, the chips out in Howth.

The barely susceptible signs of your growth.

To Hamleys at Christmas - the bigger kids stuff

No longer the bears and the "Billy Goats Gruff"

Well you're growing up at a fair rate of knots

You've come a long way from wet nappies and sn...ts

You'll soon be a woman, too soon some might say.

But I'll never forget you that very first day.

I'm typing through the tears again as I read over it. Her path has veered off a little from mine. We don't do everything together any more, she doesn't follow me about quite as much. She still likes to ask me the usual difficult questions, although why is the sky blue has moved on to more adult subjects. She makes more decisions than I do about her life these days, as is perfectly right.

It's different for Monkey Boy, he travels with me through my 30's, a much smoother journey all told. The Concrete Box is equipped with all the comforts you might expect, including a tank that holds enough water for a whole shower and a front door you can't open with a well placed elbow, there's posh!! He'll have his mum and dad, his big sister, he'll be warm and comfortable and fussed over. He'll most likely never have to change his name, or wonder where exactly he comes from. His journey will still be exciting, and it will be his own. I feel more like I'm following him along, but I think that's the way it's supposed to be....

Welcome to fast Eddies, get yer quality mobile phones, 5 for 50.....

2011-01-14T12:06:00.001+00:00

I appear to have developed an unnatural emotional connection to my blog. I know it's nothing special, it's just me rambling, but I love it I do!! So you can imagine my horror when I discovered that when you Google it you get some horrible spammy mobile phone ad site. Someone has taken my little name, and the name of one of my high quality blog posts and plonked it on their smelly site!! The nerve!! I feel violated so I do!! I wouldn't mind but my poor blog doesn't so much as get a look in. Where are all my lovely quality blog posts?? They were there, happy as Larry last time I checked sitting pretty in a Google search. I am aware no one is actually going to search for it, but it's the principle of the thing.

So off I trotted to blogger help, to find out how we send mister mobile phone packing and why my blog has gone poof. It's here we meet Nigel dear readers. Obviously no one is actually called Nigel but names have to be changed to protect the guilty. Let's just say he cruises the night fighting n00b crime everywhere!! You know when you end up having two entirely different conversations with someone. They're busy having their own little chat with themselves, paying you no heed what so ever. I'm pretty sure this guy actually thinks in zeros and ones, the patronisation, patronisingness, ah you know what I mean!! I imagine he envisaged me sitting here with a fat string of drool hanging out the side of my mouth. He failed to see the emotional turmoil I was going through at all.

It turns out it's all about popularity me dears, that's what it all hinges on. If you're not in the cool gang your blog goes poof off google never to be seen again. The mobile phone site thing is an entire coincidence. A bot of some sort miraculously came up with the exact name of my blog, and the exact name of one of my posts, put them together and turned them into a page of highly reliable mobile merchandise. Seems likely right?? Yes, I thought so too, honestly I did!!

Who am I to argue with the wisdom of Nigel?? For now it looks as though the concrete box has become a perfectly respectable communication retailer, at least in the eyes of Google, you know, until I get in with the popular kids, pass cheerleader tryouts, throw out all my pocket protectors and bag the captain of the football team....

To sleep, perchance to dream...

2011-01-13T12:44:00.000+00:00

I hate the sound of heavy rain at night, more so when it's mixed with voices on the wind and traffic. As a little girl it scared me, a branch hitting the window became a witches broom, monsters scratching to get in at me.

These days I find it depressing, mostly because if I'm lying in bed listening to the wind I'm having trouble sleeping. There's no lonelier time than sleeplessness. There's nothing quite like the symphony of wind and rain to accentuate that feeling.

I don't suffer from insomnia often, in fact I'm more likely to suffer the opposite and have been known on occasion to fall asleep sitting up mid sentence. I feel the deepest sympathy for anyone who regularly fails to enter dreamland at the appropriate time.

There is no judge, jury and executioner like your own mind, alone, in the middle of the night.

(pic yoinked from deviantart, at some point in the distant past)

Perfection....

2011-01-10T21:02:00.000+00:00

Well Readers (or reader) I've been a very naughty blogger. I've left you all waiting there with baited breath, I know you could hardly sleep for wondering what I've been up to!! I do apologise. In my defence the concrete box has been a busy place recently, I don't do the multi-tasking thing as well as my gender is expected to. Writing quality blog posts such as this one requires quiet reflection you know!!

I've been sick!! Properly almost dead sick, with the plague!! The black death to be exact. It forced me to adjust my expectations for the festive season. We do that though, don't we? Elevate our expectations to levels where disappointment is the only probable outcome. All the preparation, the cleaning, decorating, cooking, and shopping, oh the shopping!! All that hard work means we expect it all to go perfectly, we always neglect to factor in the human element. The thing about it is, even though all the things I thought were important never got done, even if some of the many decorations stayed in their boxes, the floors never got washed, the dinner was missing some veg and an adventurous experiment of a starter as is tradition. Even if all those things seemed like Everests too high for me to climb with a head full of snot, the Christmas bit, the eating, laughing, watching the kids open pressies, pulling crackers, falling down full on the couch to watch rubbish TV, all carried on regardless.

I may have watched Christmas from behind the haze of plague-fuelled fever, but it was grand like, and sure what more would you want??

Anyway I have far more pressing things to discuss with you all so I imagine a further post may present itself tomorrow, or the next day, you know, to make up for it all!!

But Muuuum, I'm Bored!!!.....

2010-12-14T11:45:00.000+00:00

Monkey boy is spinning around and around, he's been doing it for about half an hour now, intermittent falling down from dizziness allowed. It makes him perfectly happy (well, he is 2) as does stamping his feet, shouting nonsense, pointing and other seemingly simple things.

It got me thinking about entertainment. We seem to need it more and more, and more and more of it. Ipads, iPods, iEverything, X-Box, everything seems to be preceded by a letter, and we need it all!! Right?? Well no, not for anything life sustaining, like breathing, but I think a little dependence is creeping in here and there. I couldn't manage without my digital + on the tv now, even though I've only had it a few months. I like having permission to get up and pee whenever suits without having to wait until the ads come on, no jigs being danced in my living room any more.

I've had a little hint that I might be getting one of those smartarse phones for Christmas. You know, the ones that get you up in the morning with a nice cup of tea and tell you you're the fairest of them all. There's an app for that right?? I do need a new phone, mine gets the hump with my friends and hangs up on them on a regular basis. It also has an odd habit of dropping half of my text message and adding another bit it found somewhere in an old text I wrote. It doesn't tell me about this change, it just sends off this Frankenstein's monster of a message to some poor unfortunate who has to work out what the hell I'm talking about and if I really need them to pick up some marmalade at the zoo next Tuesday!!

I don't know if I really need a phone that's a camera, mp3 player, browser, facebooking, tea making machine, but I bloody want one!! If even just for the pinching photos thing!! Any amount of pointless apps, silly games and constant(er) contact with the unsuspecting outside world will soon be mine!!! While I wait I guess I may as well do some spinning around with my son. Entertain me!!!!!!

42 Things

2010-12-09T19:57:00.000+00:00

You've probably heard of the website 43things.com. The idea is that you make a list of 43 things that you want to do or accomplish, you can comment on other people's lists and pinch their ideas if you don't have any of your own. I had a list of my own once, but I left it and forgot the login. I wonder how many threads of myself I've left floating around the world wide web, half finished, but that's a blog post for another day.

I thought I might do my own 43 things type idea now and then on the blog, mostly because I love making lists, at least ones like these. However, as a huge Hitchhikers fan I think I'll do 42 things instead (happy little nerd moments may also be a regular feature) So I'll start with the same theme as my inspiration...

42 things I need to get done:

1. Learn to drive - Anyone who's seen me play Mario Kart will warn you of the dangers there.

2. Potty train Monkey Boy - That will be messy!!

3. Finish making my little studio I've been promising myself for years.

4. Learn a language, any language, just to prove to myself that I can.

5. Finish all the niggly bits of DIY we never got done in our lovely concrete box.

6. Write more, poetry, prose, interesting blog posts...!!

7. Learn to sew, properly, with a machine, my poor children in their trousers made from curtains!!

8. Quit smoking, for good this time, for health reasons, and so my mum doesn't find out I didn't quit for good last time!!

9. Get back to reading a book a week, or so, like I used to. The reading pile is getting topply!!

10. Stop having ridiculous ideas like writing blog posts with really long unfinishable lists in them!!

11. Actually get paid for writing something, I seem to spend a lot of time writing things I'll never get paid for, and I love it, so I must find a way to make money from it. All ideas welcome!!

12. Figure out this whole career business, before my career break ends and I end up just going back to work in the same soulless pit.

13. Join something and get really into it, I need a hobby, like apart from facebook!!

14. Get back to volunteering somewhere, the payment is always more than you could imagine.

15. Either go to college or start a distance learning course, in psychology I think, seeing as that's my main area of interest.

16. See people, in real life, who I talk to on the internet all the time.

17. Visit my family more often, they're old you know!!

18. Turn my bedroom into a boudoir of ill-repute, or at least do it up so it's less boring!!

19. Learn more about loads of things I'm interested in, history, science, space, politics, art, and heaps more.

20. Go to the cinema more often, we rarely go these days because Monkey Boy would only sing or climb people or something. There's such a difference though, between seeing a movie on the big screen or at home.

21. Half way there and regretting starting, so finish this bleedin list!!

22. Go to Sligo!! I've been promising a friend of mine for years that I'd visit him. I went there once, years ago, I think the rain and the lack of roads put me off!!

23. Find some confidence in my own abilities, for example, when I write something I have to show it to Hubby or Snappy before I can post it or send it off.

24. Talk to my dad, it's not that we don't speak, we do, but we never talk if you know what I mean. I'd really like to sit down with him and really talk, there are so many things we don't say, I don't want it to be too late...

25. Do up my family tree, and find out who all the old dears in my mums photo albums are, she learned all this stuff off and so should I really, mostly so I can force it on Smarty Pants when she's older!!

26. Find a way to sort out my poor sick head, without pills and all that, just so I don't carry on the legacy of ridiculously nervous women in my family, and so I can be free!!

27. Get a dictaphone and keep it in the bathroom!! I have all my best ideas in there and then forget them!!

28. Cook more than the 5 or 6 things I cook now, I am good at it, just not so adventurous these days.

29. Learn to do maths again. God I hate maths, I hated it in school and that's never changed, my brain doesn't do sums the way other people's brains do. But Smarty Pants has inherited my inability to long divide and this must be remedied!!

30. Stop reading the news, well no, maybe not, it is good to be informed but it makes my blood boil to a point where I'm sure it can't be good for me!!

31. Have more "me" time, I tried to have Me Fridays, I did 2 and then they just didn't work out any more, but I need to try harder, and get Hubby to have Hubby days too, we all need a break sometimes.

32. Sort out my old email accounts, does anyone else do that, subscribe to things using an old email address in case it's spammy and then never check them? I think I have 3000+ in my Yahoo account last check, maybe a Nigerian prince has some money for me, or I won the Austrian lotto, who knows!!

33. Travel!! Ok, I know everyone says that, but 'cause of the poverty I am probably the least travelled person I know.

34. Get rich so I can fulfil number 33!!

35. Get a routine, since I went on my career break I'm all over the place, I always said I would try to treat the housework and stuff as my job, but I have a terrible habit of putting it all off until the evening when I'm most tired. I should be fired really!!

36. Get healthy. Now, not bean and lentils Gillian McKeith healthy, I don't want to look like Skeletor any more than anyone else does!! I just used to be healthy, and fit, and not half dead!!

37. Be rebellious again!! I used to be a terrible rebel, if you told me to go left I'd go right, just to spite you!! I know mostly it's a pain in the ass for everyone else but I'd love to get that little spark back, for the rush!!

38. Play more!! With my kids, and just in general. There never seems to be enough time in the day, and I never seem to have enough arms to do everything I want to. I want to have time to play chess with Smarty Pants, matching animals with Monkey Boy and Follow the Van with Hubby ;)

39. Go to more markets and silly little itty bitty shops. I used to spend every Sunday wandering around Dublin's markets, and every Sunday evening recovering in the pub. I think those kind of places will become more popular again now that everyone's broke.

40. Learn Reiki. I don't normally go in for hippy kind of things, at least not too much, but I have experienced Reiki first hand and it really is amazing. I would love to be able to do it, even just for my kids and maybe my mum.

41. Spend more couply time with Hubby, we never go out or do anything together any more. This is mostly due to the fact that no one is able for looking after Monkey Boy, he is a bit of a handful. Maybe we should start having date nights in the house, "Hi, do you come here often..." Hmmm maybe not.

42. Stop typing ridiculously long blog posts and get on with the bloody hoovering, ah well, life goes on....

Snow - The controversy!!

2010-11-30T15:18:00.000+00:00

My blog is becoming a bit "Theme of the day" with birthdays and Thanksgiving and now snow. Can't be helped I suppose, these are the things on my brain.

Snow!! It has the country divided worse than any controversial politics ever could, even more than X-Factor for God's sake!! It's fecking up peoples travel plans, making the commute even more unbearable and so slow, causing falling over (snigger) and all sorts of other horrendous things. Ah stop yer moaning the lot of ye!! It's great!! I love it!! I love the look of it, the smell of it, the crunch underfoot. I love watching it fall, checking out the window every 5 minutes to see if there's more.

Yes, I am 5 years old at heart!! I realise half the country's at a standstill, I know old people are cold and lonely. I appreciate how awful it must be to get stranded somewhere or worse, stuck in the house!! I just can't bring myself to hate it, even a little, despite all these things. Just look at it, it's so pretty!! The pile of junk in my unfinished back garden is now covered in a layer of loveliness. The utter embarrassment that is my front garden (also unfinished) now looks like a picture postcard. I love looking out at all the poor yeti's trudging down the road.

It's Gnorman!! Courtesy of the very talented Laura Nagle, see more of her work at www.flickr.com/lauranagle and love her on facebook, just search for Laura Nagle Photography

Here is my advice for all the moany moos, for what it's worth. Look inside, past mortgages, deadlines, work and driving. Somewhere in there there's a bit of you that used to wake up with the purest of joy to see everything covered in white. You used to beg your mum to wrap you up and let you at it. That bit of you is still in there somewhere. Put on your hat and gloves and go out and make a snowman, or a snow willy if you want to be more grown up ;) Laugh and run about like a loon, it's good for you!!

Thank Christ for that!!

2010-11-26T00:16:00.001+00:00

So here I sit in my poor torn country. Ok you might say, it's only a bleedin' recession, not a nuclear disaster or anything, and you'd be right, to be fair. It feels very sad though, to think that those we choose to lead our people care so little about them that they would allow this travesty to happen. This beautiful land of mine, that I love so very much. I can't imagine why anyone would want to do this to her. But that's enough of that! I imagine in many Irish houses there's a nerd bent over a laptop, spilling out vitriol about the whole sorry mess. Many more besides I'm sure are trawling through news feeds, blogs, what have you, looking for the next piece of news, that will, undoubtedly make their blood boil. I'm sick of it to be honest!

Today is Thanksgiving in the US, or what's left of it (I'm burning the midnight oil here a little) All over the states, and elsewhere I'm sure, families are holding full tummies and fighting amongst themselves over the remote control. Earlier they feasted and they told each other what they were thankful for. It's a lovely idea really, one I think we should all adopt, if not in a hallmark occasion kind of way.

So here it is, my little list of things to be thankful for:

I am thankful that I somehow managed to marry a man who, as well as being all that I could wish for, can still, after 10 years as a couple, make me laugh so much that clean underwear is often required.

I am thankful that I can proudly say my daughter is growing into a fantastic person, that she is so very talented, funny, sweet, clever, and so much more. I can hardly wait to meet the wonderful woman she will undoubtedly become.

I am thankful for my son who, on a daily basis, reminds me that real joy is found in the smallest, most seemingly insignificant things. For the true bliss I feel when I look at his shining little face.

I am thankful for the friends that I have around me, and those who are further afield, but who thanks to the wonders of facebook, can still make me laugh on a regular basis.

I am thankful for Snappy (Ok so I couldn't come up with another name, I'm working on it) So very thankful that I know I can tell her anything, and no matter how completely weird it may be, she will just get it, somehow. That she says the most outrageously wonderful things, just at the right moment, to make us all pee ourselves. That she shares her talents with me, and lets me help her share them with the world.

I am thankful for Delia (again, working on it!!) That we seem so different but we just fit perfectly together somehow, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. That I know she'll always be there for me, and will calmly organise me when I'm all a fluster. So thankful for our little texts in the mornings and our email chatter, our nights out and chats over cups of tea. That things seems to be falling into place for her in ways she maybe doesn't even know yet.

I am thankful for my family. For my mum, who I can't go a day without nattering to and who has a solution to every problem, no matter how insurmountable. My dad, our punning wars, his old seafarer way of looking at everything and a good old pint in Peggy's. My aunts, who are all batty in their own individual ways but who just happen to be some of the nicest and wisest people you could hope to meet. My entire family-in-law which is made up of a hell of a lot of people, who's names I still have trouble remembering at times but who are all fantastic in their own ways. Finally, all the children we have been lucky enough to welcome into our family over the last few years, and those on the way. It's always a joy to watch them grow and see their little personalities emerge.

And lastly, we come full circle. I am thankful for my country, her people, her culture, so diverse, so ancient, so full of the craic. Ireland is a most beautiful place to live. We may complain, and certainly recently we have plenty of reason to, but we have to remember, we are blessed to be her children, at the end of the day, her grass is much greener than anyone else's. So even when I have to listen to the anger of the callers on the radio, to the worries of my husband, the crack in my mothers voice as she tells me how all their retirement plans are scuppered, I love this place, and I wouldn't swap it for the world.

Ouch!!

2010-11-15T14:32:00.000+00:00

I get hangovers akin to the Black Death in severity, at least!! They leave me with a shaky icky feeling for days afterwards. It doesn't actually matter how many beers I have, I'll still feel yuck the next day, even after one or two. Ah well, in for a penny in for a pound says I, quickly knocking back as many I can muster, which was probably only about 6, but I'm not so good at mustering beer!!

It was the Concrete Box birthday weekend!! Myself and Monkey Boy (my 2 year old son, who will from now on be known as Monkey Boy, because of his uncanny resemblance to a tiny primate!!) have birthdays a week apart so it seemed apt to combine them into a sort of two-fer.

Accurate representation

A mountain of sandwiches and a lot of house polishing later and a party was born. Best friend (a) or Delia for short, provided an array of baked goodies, some of which I have squirrelled away for laters!! Best friend (b), in no particular order, or Snappy for short (I'll most likely change these later) took photos of it all, which I managed to avoid being in, for the most part.

I always find the mix entertaining, my family and Hubby's family are so very different. The kiddies all busied themselves with spinning round, roaring and other such activities. The adults (Now when I say adults I mean the proper grown-ups, not me like!!) after some obligatory gossiping, settled on Strictly come dancing. Mum and parents-in-law (I don't normally refer to them as The Outlaws, I swear!!) having natters about all the celebrities, Dad paying it all no attention what-so-ever, and 'Holy Aunt' looking on and tutting periodically at the skimpy outfits.

Of course eventually the groups at each extreme of the age range went off for their evening naps leaving us 'Young people' to gradually reduce a mountain of beer into a mountain of recycling.

While it still feels like hurricane George may well be hiding in my stomach, I truly believe nights like that are worth every bit of a hangover. I am honestly blessed to have such a fantastic, if slightly clinically insane, bunch in my family. To top it all off to have somehow, in my lifetime, gathered the most incredible, if slightly clinically insane, people to have as my very own dear friends is just luck of lotto win proportions. We initiated a new member into the group this weekend, I hope we didn't scare the crap out of him too much!!

(Photo was yoinked from http://media.knoxnews.com/media/img/photos/2009/07/18/071909george4_t607.jpg)

Personally...

2010-11-12T11:35:00.000+00:00

I read a good few blogs. Not necessarily the same ones all the time, but there are one or two I read every day. They're pretty much all personal blogs as I don't have enough of an obsession with any one subject to want to be reading about someone else’s opinion on it all the time. As far as I can see personal blogs fall into three categories: People who's lives are interesting enough to actually blog about their day to day activities, people who's lives are not at all interesting enough to blog day to day but they feel the need to share it all with us anyway, and people who blog about whatever happens to be on their little minds at any given time in no particular order.

Now given that my day to day life is about as interesting as that dangly bit of a cobweb that persists in hiding on the corner of the ceiling, and I have no desire to subject anyone, even myself, to a record of it's constant monotony, I think I'll be sharing whatever happens to be on my mind at any given time. If you know me you'll know that that's a much scarier prospect than it sounds, but it's ok, you can leave at any time, I promise not to follow you and ask you why you're not following me!! :)

Being 20-ahem, cough hack....

2010-11-10T15:55:00.000+00:00

I turned 30 last year. I know, I know, it's hard to believe I'm a day over 21 with my dashing youthful looks (can girls be dashing?, Must look into that!) Birthdays aren't exactly new, I've had 30 of them, but this last one felt different. I've had different feeling birthdays before too, but not many, 12 and 21 I'd say, possibly 18 but I think I was too drunk to remember!! At 12 I felt a bit scared, thinking about the prospect of growing up, and excited, thinking about the prospect of growing up, big conflicted brain on me even then!! My experience of 21 was a little different from my friends' as I had a 2 year old girl and was out on my own in the big bad world. More on that in future blogs I have no doubt.

30 loomed ahead last year and I dreaded it. I thought about all sorts of things. Being a grown-up, even if I have been playing at that for the last 11 years. Maybe having to finally figure out what direction my life is going, or even where I'd like it to go. Time passing me by far too fast. The eventual reality of my parents getting old (I'm stupidly close to my parents, but I need them, I don't do independence well!!)

As the last week of 29 ticked along I had a long chat with my very close friend. She had done the turning 30 bit earlier in the year. It's really nice, she told me, it feels just right or something, comfortable, like. She was right you know, she's rarely wrong. She gave me a little box of tricks for my birthday, all sorts of goodies lay within. My favourite thing though, I think, was this in teeny book form.

I realised I'm quite happy with who I am. I have no idea who I will be, and that's ok too. We're all on a journey I suppose, in our own personal way, and birthdays are just signposts along the road, reminding us to quit belly-aching and be happy with our lot. I turned 31 today, quietly in a way, and I don't know what it's like at all.....yet!!

The more things change.....

2010-11-08T14:10:00.000+00:00

My mother is a quare individual altogether!! If you broke your leg or got a paper cut or a scratch on your knee she'd be telling the world about it. Passing strangers would be regaled with tales of the volumes of blood that spewed forth from your near fatal paper cut, it was almost the end of you, naturally. Now if the paper cut was in your mind that'd be another thing altogether. You must never tell anyone if you're a bit odd in the head!! Not doctors, teachers, friends, co-workers, no one must know you get a bit sad sometimes, or you have an irrational fear of bananas or whatever.

So I grew up believing that this was the case. Thoroughly convinced that if I told anyone I was a bit batty, the authorities would snatch my children away and I'd be unceremoniously dragged off to the madhouse to live an unemployable, unfriendable existence for the rest of my days!!

My mother is not to be blamed for this attitude. It's pretty average for anyone that grew up in Ireland in the 1950's or thereabouts. The mental health history of Ireland, as of many countries, makes for an interesting read and I suggest you all have a google at it at some point. Anyway Mammy was only looking out for me, if in a rather unhelpful way.

Oddly enough, whilst thinking these things about myself, I never had any problem with anyone else's wobbly head issues, in fact I have a bit of the agony aunt in me I suppose. I like to listen, to make people feel better, get stuff off their chests etc, to the best of my ability anyway. So I suppose a large part of me knew this attitude I had inherited was probably not the healthiest to have in this day and age. There's still that niggly fear though, Mammy's voice in the back of your mind somewhere. I mean what if she's right?? Imagine!! So I shared what I had to with who I had to, and hid the rest from the rest, as you do!!

So here I am writing a blog about it all, and everything else as well. Mammy would be a bit cross with me now wouldn't she?? So what's changed? Well, not much, yet, I still keep a lot of my cards close to my chest, but all things in time, we'll see, won't we.....