Day 41: Potato salad fingers.

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.

Day 39: Keeping an anti-social distance from “normality”

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”

Day 35: I ran 17 kilometres and now my end is definitely nigh

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

Day 33: I am one convulsing nostril

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

Day 31: The abominable facemask

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

Day 27: Never underestimate the magic of a mini brioche

I don't know why I continue to willfully underestimate the power of a mini brioche roll to fix all manner of physical, emotional, or imagined ills. I mean, hangover = gone. Inexplicable grief caused by a global pandemic = vanquished in a bite. Randiness = butter will suffice. They are heaven shaped into pudgy faux-baguettes… Continue reading Day 27: Never underestimate the magic of a mini brioche

Day 26: Am I still being bootycalled?

It's the question that's been on everyone's mind since diary entry #3 when a mysterious stranger decided to light up my phone one brisk and impossibly early Saturday morning. Now, after weeks of suspense and as you all mourn the death of Normal People and find yourselves endlessly trawling the Internet for another impossible love… Continue reading Day 26: Am I still being bootycalled?

Day 25: I thought it would be fun to list things

The photo of my dog is sadly unrelated to this post - I just really wanted to get your attention. Look, I know what you've all been thinking. Hol, it's great, we love your work, we live for your run-on sentences that are often ten lines long and usually don't seem to have any real… Continue reading Day 25: I thought it would be fun to list things

Day 23: I should be ordering fifteen euro eggs and nursing a mimosa right now

I am hungover. Two freely-poured aperol spritzes, 1.5 cans of Guinness (the remaining 0.5 woke me up with its RINGING judgement from the lofty heights of my bedside locker this morning) and I am a pale and anxious mess. I went to bed fully-clothed, having been Facetiming a friend in Australia and, when my battery… Continue reading Day 23: I should be ordering fifteen euro eggs and nursing a mimosa right now

Day 22: Today is absolutely the last day of not getting dressed properly

I am either very, very tired or very, very energised. Those are my two states of being in quarantine. I either want to give hours to making intricate TikTok dance videos or else I'm lying down on my bedroom floor barely able to lift my arm to separate the tangle of the 3,000 piece jigsaw… Continue reading Day 22: Today is absolutely the last day of not getting dressed properly