Another one from the archives. Or, more accurately, the multitudinous, multi-faceted ether of my iPhone notes. Does it surprise you that it's always been my dream to work at the UN? If it does then I've been highly misleading in these diaries. Well, dearest reader, that dream almost came true for me the other night… Continue reading Day 43: “Hey, u up?” and other things I’ve emailed the UN at 2am
What you're reading is approximately ten days to two weeks stale. Proceed with caution and apologies if it's a little soggy. I am so sick of my own music. Dear God, what did I listen to before The National? Is there a life outside of the same frigging playlists that I keep relentlessly shoving on… Continue reading Day 42: What does one listen to if not listening to The National? Asked the human cookie monster.
I am sitting in the back of my parents’ Hyundai eating potato salad with my bare hands. I am on day two of the worst hangover of all time and I am insatiable. I wanted a 99 but Circle K thwarted me again. Why is the world so against me indulging in some soft-serve sugar?… Continue reading Day 41: Potato salad fingers.
Is this the chosen subject line of the email I sent one head of department in my organisation to tell him I was quitting my job? Maybe. WHOEVER SAID I SOLD OUT AND BECAME AN I-DOTTING, T-CROSSING, NINE-TO-FIVER WITH MY REGULAR SALARY, PLEASE KINDLY EAT YOUR WORDS NOW. I'm still eccentric, I'm still a maverick,… Continue reading Day 40: I have some news…(I’m not pregnant)
I'm back in Dublin. After over three months spent in complete isolation in Cork, where the only people I have spoken to outside my family are siblings' other halves, two family friends and the lovely cashiers in my three trips to Ireland's best, prize-winning Supervaloo, I am back once more in the cacophonic breach, floating… Continue reading Day 39: Keeping an anti-social distance from “normality”
Today I spent my lunchbreak writing letters to my TDs and government ministers asking of their plans to ensure promises of ending direct provision in the next government's lifetime were upheld and urging them to put the worsening situation in the Mediterranean to the top of their agenda. Here is the letter. To show you… Continue reading Day 38: A Love Letter to my TDs…
23:03 - I have spent fifteen minutes trying to figure out how to only get certain blog posts to display on certain pages. The smug euphoria is unlike anything else I've experienced this week. I am back in Dublin in my happiness box - the small, sublet of a room I've lived in for two… Continue reading Day 37: 23:03 pm musings
I don't really know what else there is to say. My weekend dreams in lockdown are BEE-ZARRE. I think it's the fact I've nothing going on so my dreams are trying to make up for it by being perfectly outrageous. Although I do have strange dreams as a human anyway. Incredibly, minutely, realistic and so… Continue reading Day 36: I dreamed Dolly Alderton and I were bezzies and, apart from social inequality, have thought of little else.
I know now is not the time to be flippant about death so please read the above caption with the required level of concern. I THINK I AM DYING. I have had to eat so much sugar just to keep my poor heart in motion; I may be having a very modest, quietly unobtrusive, delicately… Continue reading Day 35: I ran 17 kilometres and now my end is definitely nigh
I hate that I'm this person and yet, I can't help thinking it. I cannot help but be irked by the tsunami of influencers and everyday people essentially blackwashing their platforms in the aftermath of George Floyd's. Except, just as Greta Thunberg was not the inaugural climate activist, George Floyd was not the first person… Continue reading Day 34: Is George Floyd to 2020 what Greta Thunberg was to 2019 and, if so, is this a good thing?