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?
It is 21:58 and all around me I am surrounded by chaos. Boxes that contain my life, my loves, my infinite passion for vintage dresses and bombastic patterns, trinkets that sit somewhere between sacred relics and culturally appropriated junk and the thousands of books and journals I am perpetually on the verge of starting, finishing,… Continue reading Day 33: I am one convulsing nostril
I will keep this short because, if you have been following these, you will know I've been up-the-walls busy simply by the fact you haven't heard from me. I just want to apologise. My last piece was ambiguous and therefore truly hurtful to some family members. I wrote what I thought was a dry caricature… Continue reading Day 32: Mea Culpa
I'm trying to write and my sisters are intent on derailing my creativity with intense chats about our next choreographed lip-sync video. If you haven't yet experienced the joy of our first masterpiece, here you go. I have been called whore, boring, shit craic, rude, and selfish in the space of three minutes. All for… Continue reading Day 31: The abominable facemask