For the past week I have had the troubling sensation of feeling there is a hair in my mouth. Curled around my lip and into the cavernous vortex of my gob, a rogue follicle is rakishly entangling itself in my food until the moment of mastication when it detaches, like a lover who's just heard… Continue reading Groundhog Daze: Mary, Mary, surprisingly hairy, how does your moustache grow?
You know that Tame Impala song, "feels like we only go backwards"? Well, word on the deserted city streets is Tony Holohan has started a secret petition to make it our new anthem-elect until 2047 when all of this shite ends and we remember what it is to shake hands and walk up to a… Continue reading Groundhog Daze: Blah like Enda Kenny
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
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.
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…
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'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