• Thoughts on...,  Uncategorized

    Suspicious

    An ice-cream truck drives by my house almost every single day. I know this because I can hear it as it tinkles along. It plays a teeth-grindingly irritating melody that I could hum for you by heart if I were able to hold any semblance of a tune, and even when it’s raining out I still hear it, like I’m being haunted by a particularly obnoxious music box. Since nobody in their right mind is buying ’99s* in the Irish autumn, I have a theory about this ice-cream man: I think the ice-cream merchant is a drug dealer. Granted I have never seen him (unless he’s the man that wolf-whistled…

  • personal,  Thoughts on...,  Uncategorized

    “Traditional”

    It’s almost October. You know what that means. It means damp, russet leaves underfoot and a chill in the air like a whisper telling you to make vegetable soup. It means zipping up jackets and debating whether or not you need to wear a beanie. It means gratefully pulling on your Uggs on the way out the door because they have once again become borderline acceptable, like they do every year around the time Starbucks brings out the pumpkin spice latte. It means cold fingers and early dusk and thick, knitted jumpers that feel like inanimate hugs. I like Autumn, and I particularly like October. There is something magical about…

  • personal,  Uncategorized

    The Sticking Point

    I don’t know if you have ever heard of the Bodies exhibition.  It is an exhibition of real human bodies – dissected, plastificated – which has been touring the world for years now, and I visited it when it happened to be in Madrid, Spain. It was astonishing; human anatomy as I had never seen it. Maps of blood vessels and arteries, stiffened and displayed between slabs of clear acrylic. Skeletons in motion. Muscles, lungs, and other organs exposed to my curious eyes in a way that seemed slightly indecent. I kept having to remind myself that once upon a time these were people, real people. They had lived and…

  • personal,  so that happened

    Neighbourly Concern

    The new neighbour arrived without my noticing. One day the apartment was an empty shell of freshly-applied white paint, and the next a family had moved in. Two tall, slender brunettes and their tiny child now occupied the home where Hank and Daphne had previously lived. They have no names.  If I were to see them on the street I would most likely pass them without recognising them as my neighbours. They don’t have a dog. What they do have is some sort of a cycling obsession. I know this, because the nieghbour man often puts his very expensive-looking bike on a stand on his balcony and cycles for hours.…

  • Communication,  open letter

    An Open Letter to Sleep

    Dear Sleep, Why do you elude me? At 4am, when there is a minor rattle from the washing machine that in no sane and rational world would wake any normal person, why do you startle and desert me? Why do you disappear in a clap of silent thunder at 6am when Maya decides to play hopscotch on my head? Why do you vanish like fog and refuse to return, leaving me wild-eyed and desperate for a doze? I love you! Come back to me and wrap me up. Sink me into a coma-like state until morning. Please let me stay with you for at least six hours straight. You don’t…

  • personal

    Just People

    When you’re a child, everything is very black or white. You’re well-behaved, or you’re bold. You’re bad, or you’re good. The world is arranged into two halves and, with good parenting, you are steered towards the positive. “Yucky” things are smacked out of your hand, and the explanations of the world leave no room for nuance. You’re too young to understand the intricacies and complications of a lifetime. You’re told that bad people are bad, and that’s it. Nobody explains why, or how, or tempers it by telling you that these bad people have good qualities too. Conversely, good people are held up as paragons and then, as you grow,…

  • personal,  Thoughts on...

    Notes From the Country

    I was born in a city. I have always lived in a city. I grew up with a street lamp outside my window and the sound of a train passing by every twenty minutes. I’m used to light, and noise, and shops that are less than five minutes of a walk away. I’m used to lots of people going about their business with earphones in, purposely not making eye contact and completely ignoring the existence of anybody else on the road. So when I take a trip to the countryside, I’m always reminded of the things country people take for granted that are – for me – hugely abnormal. Every…

  • Communication,  personal,  pointless theories of an unoccupied brain

    A Rollercoaster of Emotions

    So far, 2018 is proving unexpectedly stressful. In case you couldn’t gather from my last post, I’ve been having a couple of weeks where my waking thoughts have been consumed by one worry or another, and my nights have been spent dreaming of strange amalgamations of the same worries. It’s just wrong; the nightmare equivalent of a giraffe with elephant legs and a crocodile snout. Honestly, even when I’m not stressed I have a certain amount of The Fear running through me like a low voltage current. I overthink everything until it makes no sense to me. I overthink and overthink and overthink until my thoughts end up in the…

  • poem,  Uncategorized

    A Gentle Reminder

      Sometimes worry comes calling, and stresses abound, And there’s too much to do, and yet time can’t be found, And your stomach’s in knots, and your head is in bits, And you’re starting to wonder if vodka’s the fix.   And your life has begun to feel slightly unglued, And you can’t even seem to find two matching shoes, And your top’s inside-out, and your plans are reversed, And you start to suspect that you might have been cursed.   And if this has been you, (as indeed it’s been me), And this feeling has left you completely at sea, Just know that in this, there are many like…

  • Communication,  life lessons,  open letter,  personal

    Notes for a Younger Me

    When I look at photographs of myself when I was younger, I experience a strange, out-of-body feeling. It doesn’t feel like I’m looking at myself. It feels like I’m looking at someone else. The child of someone I know, maybe, or a distant relative. It doesn’t feel like me. Sometimes this slightly freaks me out, because it makes me wonder if this is how it will always be. In twenty years’ time will I look at photos of myself now and feel like a different person? Will I have changed that much? Will I feel like the experiences and memories and thoughts of Now Me are so removed and foreign…