Other Post...

In between saving the world and sorting out small change, I've been posting here... The Dublin Blog

Enjoy...

Sunny Days

Everything seems a little easier to bear on a sunny day.

I don't hate rain. I don't hate wind. But it's so much nicer when the sun is out.

God. That is a terribly, terribly lame and anodyne post.

Sorry.

So, its been a while since I posted. Things have been busy. I have no space in my head to think. Less work. More walks on beach.

I'm trying to change gear. I think I've been working in a low wattage kind of way. Getting through. Not really thinking. Agonising about things rather than dealing with them. Getting more tangled up in the process of worrying about things than actually working out how to do them.

I've been busy. But busy doing what exactly?

It's kind of like waking up. I realise that I'm faster, better, smarter than I've been for the last 6 months. It's annoying but its exhilirating.

I know why it happened too. Too much time spent peering down the road at the future. Too many stupid people in my way, just doing nothing.

It's so annoying to wake up from that kind of half assed stupor and realise how much time and intellect you've wasted.

Like the start of the post. Aren't sunny days great?

You know what? Fuck sunny days. And rain and the rest. The point is what have I been doing at work for the last 6 months? Nothing. Waiting for winter to pass. The equivalent of doodling on my notebook during maths and then wondering why I didn't understand it and couldn't do my homework when I got home.

Idiot.

Anyway. Life is not all about work. Otherwise. Things are good. All the more reason to get my dumb brain in gear and make some progress

Angry. Out.

The Shroud

So, I'm away for the weekend...

I'm sitting in a pub and I glimpse through a door a very, very odd picture.

It's like an impressionist Edward Munch...



I didn't go to see what it actually was, I'm guessing some kind of awning, propped against a wall, viewed through a frosted glass window....

Spooky

Tired, like an old joke...

You know, the kind of joke... the one everyone knows, no one remembers, until your drunk.

That may not make much sense...

I've had a long week and it's only Tuesday - by my reckoning I've worked 40 hours in three days... I know doctors work longer hours but I am exhausted...

My brain keeps snapping off in random directions. I have to stop and remind myself what I was doing. In fact since I got home, I've been making lists out loud to help myself remember what I'm supposed to be doing...

So, I've been wandering around the house going, "check email, post something on blog, brush teeth, sleep".

And it's only 8.15pm

Anyway, I fell asleep about five or six times on the way home. You know, one of those weird disjointed, entirely seperate series of micronaps. Each one had a different theme, each time I woke up, startled and at a different stop. People disappeared from beside me, new people appeared opposite me, I half eavesdropped on conversations then included them in my dreams... Very disturbing.

Right, stop posting and go to bed...

Later...

That Girl's interview with The Monkey

That Girl has interviewed yours truly... It's part of a Blog version of Spin The Bottle

Here's the interview...

http://www.thinkingoutloud.biz/archives/000673.html#more

Next, it's my turn... But first I have to select a Blogger...

Killer on the Dart

Well, maybe not a killer...

I am however reading James Ellroy at the moment, "Killer on the Road". He's a tough read. I read most of the LA Quartet, but eventually had to stop because his writing is just so dark and claustrophobic sometimes that you get swallowed up by it.

However, I was in my local library, when I stumbled across "Killer on the Road" and thought I'd dive in again...

In this book he's writing from the point of view of a serial killer, in fact it takes the form of a confessional / autobiography written from Death Row. It tracks the early years and the starting point of this guy's descent into madness. Once again I find myself tangled up in these incredibly well written but horribly dark thoughts.

So, while sitting on the DART, inevitably it affects your perspective.

You can imagine how the killer lurks, preying, watching, waiting.

And as the DART slices through sleepy suburbs, suddenly, you find yourself peering into people's kitchens, or catching a glimpse of someone busy making breakfast and wondering about the crazy people...

Look there, a flimsy garden fence, half collapsed, a back door ajar, when you see the world with a killer's eyes everything looks a lot less secure...

Maybe I should go back to reading Cecilia Ahern... At least that way I spend DART journeys sleeping...

Another Dublin Blog Post

For no good reason, here's a post on the new Dublin Blog...

Rambling about Bird Flu

If you haven't seen The Dublin Blog - check it out, there are some great writers (and me)

My Weather Hell

God, I really, really don't like this weather... stop with the rain, wind, cold thing, please...

I briefly attempted to go for a walk today, only to be defeated by some kind of half assed monsoon. Grr

Anyway, I've been thinking about drinking.

Last night, I was out in town, after a rugby match. My God, there were some incredibly drunken people out.

Now, I freely admit, I drink. Often to excess, but hopefully, not with the results that I saw last night.

A pub, in town. It shall remain nameless. But clearly, a number of eager customers had been busy imbibing throughout the day. Late in the evening, inevitably one had to visit the downstairs toilets. Now, my theory about pub toilets is that generally, pubs with toilets in the basement are not good. I think it may simply be "out of sight, out of mind" for the bar staff...

These toilets were a case in point. Stairs, overly step and narrow. Aroma, not pleasant. Paintwork, grim and ancient. All of which served only as a gentle warning for the state of the toilets...

Not good... Floor, flooded. Toilet paper, soggy mass on the floor. Underwear, lying in the middle of the sodden mass beside the toilet, in the cubicle.

But and somewhat belatedly, I return to my point. There was a person. Standing, swaying, propped against the sink. They may have been there for sometime. They had that slack jawed, vacuous look that speaks of a long day of imbibing. They, I think, were attempting to close their belt.

They were having some trouble.

I entered, avoided, abluted and departed without our friend making any obvious progress towards reassembling their outfit.

The kinder hearted readers are wondering why I didn't ask them if they were ok? Well, my primary concern was to leave before they threw up all over themselves, myself and the already somewhat scruffy facilities... I am not, I'm afraid, a good samaritan.

Seeing this incpacitated, inebriated, incompetent had the effect of opening my eyes to the other drunken denizens of downtown Dublin. I saw a man, with what looked like dried blood on his face, I saw someone else, "resting" by the side of the road", I watched another man, read aloud, very, very slowly from The Sunday World.

We're not pretty when we're drunk. We should really drink less. I should drink less. And yet it remains very difficult for me personally to imagine going out for a night and not drinking anything as a matter of course. Is it our culture? Is it me? Is it healthy?

Clearly not. And yet on Friday night, I drank cheerfully until all hours and had what I would consider a great time. So, if you do meet me in a toilet in a semi belted state, remind me... it's ok not to drink, in fact sometimes it's fun to just go out without getting out of it... Don't be afraid of yourself.