25 things…

I found this today! It was something I wrote a year a half ago when I was doing my Masters in journalism. Some of it is still true and parts of it are now less depressing (I find the further away I move from being a teenager the less maudlin I become!) I am going to post it because I think everyone should write one of these… it helps you remember who you are. Putting stuff down into words can make you realise something things about yourself. They are also fun to look back on in 10 or 20 years I reckon!

25 things about me..

1. I haven’t got time to write this but I am trying to avoid doing my tons of uni work. So far today I have been to the bank and post office, gone food shopping, taken out the recycling, emptied the dish washer, and changed the whole layout of my room and then tidied it so everything is sparkling.
2. I am doing an MA in newspaper journalism. It is very tough but I love it so much. It is harder then my degree in creative writing. Sometimes I miss being ‘allowed’ to be creative.
3. I am incredibly insecure. I always worry my friends will stop loving me, especially when they don’t get in touch for a few days or weeks. It’s ridiculous and insane but I can’t help it – I’m afraid of ending up alone.
4. I speak French and a few words of Valenciano and Italian. I speak Irish well enough and speak Spanish the best, it’s my second language. I lived in Spain for a year and went to school there. I hope to one day become completely fluent.
5. I would like to travel and write. I want to be a journalist for a few years or decades and then just write books. My sister is a writer who has three books out in Ireland. She died of cancer 3 and a half years ago, but she is still my hero.
6. My favourite colours are dark red and all different shades of blue.
7. My eyes are sometimes brown and sometimes green. I get very bored with my appearance.
8. I think writing this stuff might make people think I’m a little weird.
9. I love writing more then anything in the world, and if I couldn’t write I might actually die.
10. If I wasn’t a writer/journalist I would like to be either a councillor or an actress, but I don’t like people looking at me too much so I don’t know how well I would fare as an actress. I wish I could have 10 lives so I could try 10 different careers.
11. I studied dance full time for a year and was in a choir when I was younger who travelled to Rome to sing for the Pope. I can play guitar.
12. Three years tomorrow it is one of my best friend’s anniversaries. She died in a car crash when we were 20. I have a tattoo of her name on my back. 
13. My favourite writer and poet is Sylvia Plath.
14. I love rap music because its so many words and I live for words. I dated a rapper for 2 years but this wasn’t the reason! I also enjoy R & B, and rock and really embarrassing bands like Britney spears. My favourite band is Massive Attack.
15. I always look at other girls and compare them to me. They always seem to be so much prettier or smarter then me. I know it sounds like I’m feeling sorry for myself but it’s the truth.
16. I have a really loyal family and so many amazing friends. My friends and family are immense. Sometimes I don’t know what I would do without them
17. I live with 9 other people, they are all so different and interesting, they open up my mind sometimes to different ways of life to my own.
18. My brain won’t ever turn off. I stay up late because I don’t like lying in the dark by myself. When I do that I think about death and ending up alone and all that scary shit… so instead I stay up really late until my eyes can’t physically stay open any more. I frequently oversleep my alarm for this reason.
19. I never used to drink coffee but since I’ve become a journalist I drink at least 2 cups a day.
20. I rarely eat breakfast but I always have huge dinners. I have been vegetarian on and off but am not at the moment. One day I will become vegetarian again because I really love animals. I did a marathon for the RSPCA last summer and raised 700 euro. I hate people who abuse animals and think they should be punished by doing the same back to them.
21. It makes me really sad when I think about people and animals who are suffering. So much so that when I am having a good day I can’t even be happy because I know that elsewhere there are people who aren’t.
22. When I was 17 I was really into drugs. I have dated so many weird guys I could write a book about weird guys.
23. I am obsessed with the environment and recycling. I am messy but clean.
24. Sometimes I hate myself and sometimes I like myself, but overall I get on very well in my own company. Sometimes I need my space to be me and be creative. When I can’t be creative or have me-time I get stressed and frustrated with life. I have a low concentration span sometimes and daydream a lot.
25. I want to end up living in Spain or Amsterdam. I want to work in New York for a year.. I want to visit so many more countries.

The Anniversary of the Berlin Wall…

The haunting pictures of human frenzy, that mark the memory of November 9^th 1989, are immortalised in our memory as the day that changed the shape of Europe forever.

For on that ordinary, cold November day in Germany, its people toppled not only a 140 km wall, but also a communist and Soviet regime that had spanned for decades.

East Germany was suffering in desperate poverty, while West Germany sat next to it, guiltily rich in comparison. Forbidden from building houses or even repairing broken ones, the place fell into disrepair and slums. Families were separated by the divide, the nation was held breathless in the grip of communism.

Guarding the divide was not only the Berlin Wall, but also a continuous line of high metal fences, barbed wire, watchtowers, booby-traps and minefields.

The guards with rifles slung over their shoulders sat on roof tops and in their observation towers. Only old people were allowed to live closest to the wall because they were too frail to make any attempts to escape. On top of the wall with the broken glass cemented in place, a brave soul might make it through all the obstacles only to have their hands shredded to pieces. If that wasn’t grizzly enough, the crosses on the Western side showing how far someone had made it before being shot down, painted a picture of heartless repression.

A prison, more then a border, citizens were murdered trying to cross it. Gamblers of luck tried sneaking over, the frustrated and fatalistic tried jumping it, angry plotters smashed trucks and cars into it, attempting to knock it down. It was a virtual and a visible barrier, a nightmare they never woke up from.

Among the colourless landscape, the lack of colour and billboards, the empty silence of very little traffic, lived the army of Stasi who pried into every aspect of the East Germans lives. The Stasi possessed spies, both paid and unpaid. Some estimates say there was one for every six and a half members of the population. Success was unheard of in East Germany and involved a pact with the devil – if you wanted to attend a university, enter a sports-club, become a lawyer or marry a foreigner, you would pay with your soul.

For anyone who didn’t experience the Germany in that time, it is hard to imagine what an overwhelming feeling of relief, joy, and unreality took over them the day the Berlin wall was finally brought down.

Suddenly, the years of degrading searches at border crossings like Checkpoint Charlie, the separation of loved ones, walled in on the Eastern side, ended in an instant.

There was a man who had been working in West Berlin on the day the wall went up in August 13, 1961 – he never got back to East Berlin that night. He was seen walking to the wall every so often wearing a bright red shirt. One Easter morning on the other side his wife and daughter, held up some babies for him to see as he peered through his binoculars at them – that was how he saw his grandchildren. Moments later the women put the children back in the prams and hurried off. Not long after an East German police car went by.

Most people on both sides were unquestioningly aware something wasn’t right with this way of life. Others blindly followed, afraid to speak up. For decades the dogs and soldiers with machine guns guarded the main streets of Berlin, cut off by this cold, hard cement wall symbolic of Soviet control.

Images of people standing on the wall the day it came down are rife. An image of revolution as the guards looked on, powerless to stop them. There were those who carried sledgehammers to smash the wall. There were tears and laughter, joy and celebration. And finally a large chunk of the wall was knocked down. The reign of power was over.

Poland, Hungary, Romania, Bulgaria and Czechoslovakia all saw a revolution of their own not long after that. Then the inevitable happened: the dissolution of the USSR and the Eastern Bloc countries joining of the EU.  
It was a turning point for our cosy little Europe as countries queued to be allowed in. The Czech Republic and Estonia, Hungary and Poland, Romania and Bulgaria and many others. Suddenly Europe wasn’t so cosy anymore – we were stronger.

Europe’s freedom of expression, rights and courage, suddenly rested on the unity and democracy of both our Eastern and Western countries.  
A united Germany became the economic wheelhouse of Europe. The young moved on and some never looked back. But some of the old never could. Even the Stasi themselves were somewhat victims. The old Stasi men have been found living in the same drab houses in compounds on the outskirts of Potsdam; the same stained high rise blocks in East Berlin, frequenting the same pubs they did when they were members of the Stasi. They show it’s hard to change what you’ve known for so long. But Germany has moved on.
Like Ireland, it owes much of its present success to Europe. Throughout history the EU has never been more united. Together with Europe, and while going it alone too, we are doing well.
The past will never be forgotten by Germany or the rest of Europe affected by the Soviets communist clutches. The Berlin Wall may have been smashed down, but it helped build the Europe of the future.

Panel

 

The European Commission Representation in Ireland:

• Is part of the Commission’s network of representative offices throughout the Member States of the European Union.
• Ensures that citizens’ voices are heard in the corridors of power in Brussels.
• Communicates EU affairs at both national and local levels.
• Provides information to Irish people on the changes and recent developments in Brussels.
• Gathers information and keeps the Commission in Brussels informed of various political, social and economic developments in Ireland.
• As part of their expanding listening function, the Representation plan to conduct public consultations on various ideas that the Commission is developing.

The Riddle of Amanda Knox

Many people, including myself, were shocked when the news emerged today that Amanda Knox was convicted, after an 11 month trial, of the murder of Meredith Kercher. The angel faced 22 year old, who will now spend the next 26 years behind bars, has protested her innocence for more than two years since the murder was committed in November 2007. As most people know already, Kercher, 21, was found semi-naked and with her throat slit in her home from home in Italy where the British girl was  studying  at the time. Knox and her boyfriend Sollecito and a third man, Guede,were subsequently arrested under suspicion of committing the murder. Guede was jailed for 30 years last October.

So how do people feel about this? Do we feel sorry for Kercher and the families involved or do some of us secretly pity Amanda too? Having read about the lack of competancy of the Italian forensics I personally had been convinced of her innocence for some time. The fact that women like Amanda – young, middle class girls from good homes just don’t usually do these sorts of things - is a blatant stereotype. But then stereotypes usually have a reason for being so. I suppose it is whether you want to consider Amanda the exception or the rule. I highly doubted that the evidence meant that ’beyond reasonable doubt’ she was involved in the crime. Just because there was nothing to prove her innocence does not mean there was enough to prove her guilt. Obviously the Italian jury believed there was, but then many, many people have been wrongly convicted in similar circumstances being executed and having spent 20 years in prison only for their innocence to be revealed. 

Then there is the prosecution side. So much evidence to suggest she was in the house at the time, the fact that she took drugs and drank, her behaviour after she ‘found out’ about the murder, her change in stories and the framing of a local man, Patrick Lumumba who subsquently spent two weeks in prison as a supect.

If you look at her Myspace page she looks extremely normal. She cites her favourite movies as among others: The Princess Bride, Finding Nemo, Robin Hood, The Full Monty and James Bond. She also said she liked to watch Looney Tunes and South park. She lists her hobbies as things like rock climbing, tea, daydreaming, dressing like a dork, eating, cooking for other people, photography, reading, writing and art. It is childlike and innocent. She cites her hero as her mother and her favourite bands as the Beatles, Led Zepplin, Nina Simone and the Red Hot Chillie Peppers. In short – she seems like a normal, functional girl in her early 20′s.

So is she the cold blooded ‘she devil’ that so many of the media have portrayed her to be? Or a girl who mixed with the wrong people and was in the wrong place at the wrong time? A manipulative sociopath, hell bent on lying and sick sex games? Or an innocent 20 something, embroiled in a mess she did not create? Or are there two, very different, sides to Amanda Knox?

Perhaps there doesn’t need to be just two sides. Perhaps she is human and therefore very complex. Unfortunately Amanda is now the subject of the Virgin/Whore dichotomy – she is either the slut or the innocent virgin never in between. She is being portrayed, as many women in today society are being portrayed - as one or the other. It’s easier for the media to exaggerate and sell newspapers that way. No one likes a wishy-washy villan. Britney Spears (innocent to whore) and Princess Diana (Ditto).

I believe personally if a young woman like she had committed the murder it would have been difficult for her to keep it a secret for two years from her lawyers, family and friends. Yes, she would have wanted to be free but as anyone who has seen from studying Macbeth, even the strongest men confess and break down under such pressure. It is human nature. Imagine the immense pressure on a young woman in a different country away from home in a horrific, crowded prison. When she saw her parents and friends she would eventually want to cave and confess to at least one of them. Yet they all testified to her strength of character. Alterantively, the point you could make in reference to that is that Amanda Knox may not be your average young woman. I cannot imagine keeping such a secret, but then I can also not imagine committing such a heinous crime in the first place, drugs and drink or no drugs and drink – you don’t suddenly change your personality completely when under the influence. We all get a little unpredictable but whatever you do under the influence of drink or drugs should reflect on your true personality. I myself know that even when I have been very drunk the worst I have done was to storm off in an argument. But then your true feelings do come out.

So is it possible that Amanda is in the true sense of the word a sociopath and psychopath from birth - exibiting the characteristics of such - intensely charming, a convincing lier, manipulative, with no sense of remorse, lack of empathy and a clear view of what she was doing all along? A woman who finally got carried away by her primal instinct to kill. A person who derived enjoyment and pleasure from seeing anothers suffering. As one in 20 humans have psychopathic instincts and many less then that (but still a substantial amount) are out and out psychopaths with absolutely no sense of right and wrong. Is it possible that Amanda was waiting for a time in her life to commit such an act when she thought there was a possibility she could get away with it? As they say the most dangerous and evil animal in the world is the human. The most surprising thing if Amanda Knox is innocent is how society will have to reevaluate who they can instinctively trust. From baby shakers to female pedophiles and young girls who murder, our societal stereotypes are going out of the window. To look at she really doesn’t look like she could hurt a fly. In Amanda’s case, perhaps, this was not the truth. Only she knows this. Whatever the truth however, I hope the right person serves time for such an horrific act.

Some good links:

http://www.seattlecrimeblog.com/2007/11/articles/murder/anatomy-of-a-myspace-page-amanda-knox-suspect/

http://genderacrossborders.com/2009/12/05/amanda-knox-virgin-whore-dichotomy/

http://monsk.wordpress.com/2009/12/05/amanda-knox-and-raffaele-sollecito-are-guilty/

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/8394750.stm

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/news/world/europe/article6935519.ece

The Dole (Again)

It was released last week that 170,000 people left the dole queues in the space of the past year. But the soaring numbers dropping off the dole this year were still not enough to prevent an even bigger surge on the overall Live Register, to 440,056 claimants.

According to the Irish Independent, the cash-strapped Government is now struggling to cope with an unemployment rate of 12.4pc, almost three times higher than the average 4.5pc jobless rate in 2007.

 

I can definitely see how these figures are coming about. I have been out of full time education about a month now but still cannot find a job. I also know many people from my Masters course in the same position as me.

Today I went into the dole office, not for the first time since I have been back in Dublin. You always have to wait about 30 – 45 minutes to be seen and today is no different. There is one of those digital clock things where you take a number. The woman in the pink crocs and matching pink cardigan is in front of me. She looks like the type to take a long while as she gets up slowly gathering her belongings and strolling to the desk with no rush. Take your time there love, I’ve nowhere to be, I think.
About ten years pass. The man beside me, his has grown very long and grey, we have a new Taoiseach and the recession is over. Then my number finally comes up. 616, 616, 616! You have won: a meeting with the happiest woman in Ireland! Exited, I run up to the desk. The woman on the other side does not look as exited to see me. She looks at me disparagingly. I smile at her. ‘Hi,’ I say. She raises her eyebrows without a word.

‘I had to bring in some stuff,’ I tell her. She waits for me to explain. ‘I had three things I had to bring in,’ I say fumbling in my brown envelope for them.

She says nothing. ‘Do you want my PPS number?’  I ask. She nods. I end up giving it to her four times. This obviously isn’t her day because the computer freezes. I want to tell her that computers just hate me for some reason and it probably senses me on the other side of the screen but she is gone to find one that does work without saying a word.

 

I look at the glass. The dole office is a funny place. Never is the discrepancy so clear. On one side you have people out of a job, and on the other side, you have people with a job. They are almost like famous people. Famous for having a job. All the jobless people come to meet them every day and look wishfully (or in some cases, not wishfully) at this breed of human lucky enough to have a job. You always look at them, well I do, and think – I could do that. And I could do it better, and probably look better while I’m doing it. But then you don’t get hired to the dole office for doing the job with style. You just get hired if you can be like this woman here, who incidentally is back again looking quite angry. 
I hand her over my fathers P60, reminding her I’m under 25, and my letters to prove I’ve been looking for work. ‘And I’ve just registered with Fás,’ I add. She looks non-plussed taking the stuff from me. ‘Didn’t you bring your checklist?’ she says. ‘No, I uh..’ – ‘You forgot your checklist?’ she repeats in disbelief. ‘No, I didn’t forget. I lost it,’ I correct her. Uh oh. I see a dragon emerging. Maybe that’s the reason they have a glass divider - to protect the customers. ’I know it was only three things I needed,’ I say. ‘You should have brought your checklist,’ she snaps. Ummm. This might take some work. ’Can’t you check on your computer or in my file to see I have everything before I leave? It’s just I don’t want to have to come back again.’ She shakes her head. ‘Can’t help you, you should have brought your checklist,’ she says unsympathetically. I can see where she is coming from. It must really wind them up when women in pink crocs take ages and people like me forget their checklist. Unfortunately, I have no money and need dole. 

 

‘Did you bring in your six months worth of bank statements?’ she asks. I scan my memory. I brought in two recent ones but not six months worth. The story seems to change every time I am here, which is convenient. ‘No, I.. uh’ she is about to reprimand me again, as she opens her mouth. ‘Yes I did’ I intercept. She staples something. ‘It will take a few months now anyway. We’ll be in touch,’ she says, standing up and walking away from the desk. ‘Ok, thank you,’ I mumble leaving. What can I say? Another day, another dole-er…

Market Research in Disguise

Recently it was reported that a neo-Nazi gang is congregating in Dublin’s city centre, intimidating passers-by and singing anti-Semitic songs. Isn’t it disturbing that a city that could hold a World Cultures Festival last month could also have people like this?
I think it’s brilliant that there are so many different types of people in our city. For example: I was walking through college green, in Dublin city last week. I had just been for an interview and I was heading home, with nothing on my mind but dinner. I was just walking in the sun through Trinity and this Chinese lady approached me. ”Hello, excuuuse me meees,” she said. “Can you please stop for a moment?” So I stopped. “Can you please answer some question for us?”  There was another woman with her looking at me pleadingly. 
I thought about it for a second. You have to be quick at making excuses with market researchers. If you pause they know they have you. You have to be off the bat like ‘No, emergency, running, train, bye.’ Even feigning complete ignorance is a good move. But I was stopped, and I paused. Bad move. ’Alright’ I said, feeling sorry for them. Only, suddenly it didn’t feel like market research as I saw the novel in her hand. Where was the clipboard, where were the badges they were meant to wear? She beckoned me over to a bench overlooking the beautiful college green. I thought to myself - they must be students doing research for a dissertation or something, they can’t be doing real market research because they have no clipboards.
How naive. The other woman just said ‘Thanks yooou.’ I smiled at her and sat in between them on the bench feeling a little silly. ‘Take this,’ she said holding out the book. ‘Okay?’ I nod taking the book from her. ‘Can you just read two of these passages,’ she says pointing to the page. ‘Sure,’ I say. I skim through them not really taking them in, except that they are kind of religious. ‘How much do I have to read?’ I ask. She points to where I must stop. ‘Okay’ I say when I’m finished. Then suddenly, with no warning, she starts talking about ‘Jesus’s bride.’ I’m confused but nod a few times. She asks me do I understand. I really don’t. I know now that this is not market research and I suddenly feel like a small child having been tempted into a pedophiles’ car with the offer of sweets – only there was no sweets, just market research. I am nodding now not hearing her, even if I did try and make out the words all I hear is, ‘Jeeeesuuus… Jesssuusses brrride…’ It doesn’t make sense. Finally I bite the bullet ‘So are you going to ask me any questions?’ I ask politely. ‘Yes,’ she said with a pause. ‘Do you believe in Jeeeesuuus?’ she asks. ‘I’m not sure,’ I say. ‘Do you believe you have a soul?’ she asks ‘Yes, of course,’ I say. ‘So who do you believe put it there?’ she asks. ‘I believe there is a God, but I’m not sure,’ I say. ’Do you understand that Jesus has bride?’ she asked not affected by my obvious discomfort. I think about how to put this nicely. ‘Not really…’ I say. ‘Sorry it’s not for me.’ She looks at me blankly.  ’So do you not want to have eternal liiiife?’ she asks me, deadpan. I pause for a second. Owning up and saying yes means she has me. ‘No…’ I say – an obvious lie. Come on, who doesn’t want eternal life – but what I also want is peace. What I really want is to get to the DART station and get the train home and read my paper, and then eat rice with soy sauce and that tuna steak in the fridge – raw. While watching that documentary called ‘Born a girl, now a boy’ or something, and then some mindless friends episodes and then go write my book, and fall asleep – a rich, untainted sleep, and wake up and live my life. Eternal life? I could take it or leave it right now. ‘Okay’ she said. I got up ‘Sorry’ I said, unsure to why I was apologising. ‘Bye’ and I smiled, and then ran. Dublin’s multicultural side, if nothing else, makes your walk home a bit more interesting and funny. And if that’s not a good thing, I don’t know what is…

The Dole Queue

Ah the dole. The lovely alternative to working. Sit around on your ass all day and get money for nothing… What? Taxpayers money? You want to hurt me? Relax.. I’m just kidding around. I haven’t got any yet, though I have signed on. I went there yesterday, to one of the ones in Dublin. Its a great place that dole office, especially in the rain. I came in shaking my brolly like a glo stick, ready for a party, and down to join the queue for the reception desk. There was already a fraca in full swing.
(cue strong Dublin accent) “NO NO NO NOOOOOO… Dis is f**kin ridiculous! I’ve been waitin’ over n’ HOUR to see dat lady.. I’m ahead of you in the queue RIGHT? I won’t be long.. I just need to speak to her.. This place is F**KIN’ RIDICULOUS.. its a JOKE.. they dunno how to run a place.. its mickey mouse and donald duck runnin this place..” and so on, you get the picture. In front of me were two Polish men. I feel in two minds about this. On the one hand if they have been working in our country for a few years and paying tax, and then they suddenly lose their job, then by all means go on the dole. But then if they come over and don’t work, they still get dole? That seems a bit wrong to me. Nevertheless.. I am now a beggar so have no right to complain about which other beggars are getting money. Maybe when I am a taxpayer I can have an opinion. The woman gave me a form. The questions were great. ”Why do you think you can’t get a job?”  You see this could spawn a plethora of questions. Maybe I could have written:

“Because I’m a middle class idiot who went and got a degree in creative writing and popular music. Who’s ever heard of a job attributing to that eh? And then I went on to get  a proper vocational useful qualification – a masters in newspaper journalism.. right before a recession where journalists are only getting laid off and not taken on.. perhaps I should have been a plumber.. yaknow’ got a decent trade at 18 or something? yaknow instead of educating my mind and reading the guardian or something? Shoulda.. been, uh.. working for my wage.. never mind that i’ve had about 25 jobs altogether to support myself getting through this education, now you say it.. now you actually say it.. I have NO IDEA why I can’t get a job.. hang on a sec.. yeah.. my phones ringing its god, he’s telling me to shut up…’

 But instead I wrote: “Because there is a recession.. I’ve actually been trying really hard!”

LAME!

I suppose they are hoping you will be caught out and write ”Because I’m a lazy chav who has no motivation to get off my arse and do anything with my life” or ”I can’t rite a CV cos noones tauted me too” or “I was never given a chance.. now I have three kids with three different men – well it could be any of ten different men. I wish I had a job, but honestly can’t get anyone to mind these brats” or,  ”I pretend to have arthritis in my finger so I can get out of it..” but I’m sure everyones application for the past two years has said what mine did.
Recession. That big excuse word for not having a job. Bet the ones who have been on it all along are loving the recession. Cheaper food, holidays and a good excuse – WAHAY!
If  you’re under 25 they want to know your parents income too. I thought that was bad. It’s not enough that I’m a year away from offically not being a young adult anymore and barely get ID’d anymore, but now I’m too young?
I have one group of people saying “Grow up grandma” and another saying “You’re still too young to be a viable independent adult!” Why does it matter what my parents do? They shouldn’t have to fund their 24 year old anymore! I’m twenty bleedin’ four and my dad is on a pension for gods sake! No one should have to bail their kid out from a bad spot at that age. But they are at the moment,and probably will be until the dole comes through in another three months or I get a job (unlikely seeing as I have applied for about 10 million already). That is, if the government deem me needy enough, yaknow, one of their own citizens. Yeah give it to all the people who come over – give buggies and houses to the Nigerians give dole to the Polish  (I shouldn’t have to say here, but I will just in case, that I am by no means racist to any colour, creed or religion coming to work in my country, I’m just against spongers who think its okay to come over, take handouts and not work for it.) It’s like, come over, we’ll take care of ya… don’t worry, dry your eyes! What one of our OWN born and bred? She’s moved back in with her parents and is under 25? Tell her to deal with it!! (I also think its different if people are fleeing their country because they were being threatened with death or something awful.. they are always welcome.. tho alot of them say they are when theyre not.)
So I was sitting there in the dole office looking at those glass booths. It looked just like prison. I wonder why those glass booths exist in the two most depressing places ever – prison and the dole office. Then again, they house the same sort of people usually.. the ones who are likely to deck a dole office worker for any particular reason they deem adequate.
So i’m sitting there, looking up at the white depressing clouds in the skylight.. well the skylight might be white im not sure, but everytime im in there its cloudy so who knows.. and then the worst thing that could possibly happen, happens…. Mary Black comes on the radio. Now if there is one song that is SURE to cheer up a dole office its this:

My heart is low.. my heart is sooo looow..
As only, a womans heart can beee….

I was like kill me now. Seriously. Anyway, I got up there eventually.. and was just sent off with a list of things to bring back. Including, of course, threat that they’ll be checking what my parents earn. Great – sounds like a speedy procedure. How about.. I get the job seekers allowance now when i need it, not in three months when i probably will have a job? Anyone for a government who isn’t ridiculous say Aye?!

Aye.

Survival of the Meanest

Check out my article on bullying for the Irish Independent at the following link:

http://www.independent.ie/lifestyle/independent-woman/issues/workplace-bullying-survival-of-the-meanest-1824436.html

When life was simplez…

Writing fiction is the best thing ever because it’s relaxing and you can go off into your own little world – I’d happily do it all day, but it doesn’t pay very well at all. Journalism, on the other hand, is stressful unlike fiction writing and slightly more dangerous – but it pays… not very well, but better. You get to have an opinion and research all different weird and wonderful things – while being paid for the liberty. I think it was always destined in some way that I would become a writer journalist type person.
Where am I going with this?
Look, I never said I was a good journalist.
You come here, you have to put up with my nonsensical ramblings as well as the stuff which does make sense.
I first wrote to the Irish Times when I was 10 years old to complain about something. They printed it on the letters page as well – clearly taking the piss. I was quite serious about my opinion at the time – paying over 1 pound 50 for a small drink with my limited pocket money really rattled me as a pathetic, powerless to society ten-year-old. Oddly enough, 14 years later and I’m still voicing strange opinions on things o’er this blog (the voice of the future is this blog.. voice of the crazy) while writing fictious and real stories and being a bone fide journo.
I didn’t always find voicing an opinion easy though. It has taken years for the voice to emerge. You can find sprinklings of the opinionated brat coming out in my 6 year old diary which santa brought. Here is some for you to read.. spelling errors included.

First profound thought on life (on handling the use of vowels): ‘with no a, e, i o, u’s my name would be s.n.d it really is sinead take away the i.e.a’
 
Christmas Day (Trying to talk around what really happened): ’25 of demeber- wensday- I wock up in the morning and saw my prestuns. I got a doll from santa and over thinings aswell. In the day time i dun.. i dun somethinings as well and i went to a cafe and met some spanish girls and boys and went dancing.’
 
Jan 3rd, (upon meeting new contacts): ‘I foad frend- she had 3 sisters one was 10 months old, and the other one was 3 years old and other was nine and lesli was 7.’
 
Jan 11th, (journo learns how to party): ‘It was my daddys birthday. I made jam tarts aswell and sasij rolls and blw up ballonds.’
 
March 20th (first film review): ‘Niamh slept the night at my howse, we wathed battarys not incloded it was grate. me and niamh sometimes colded it ‘the littel gies agan’ we loved it.’
 
March 28th (breaking news): ‘I slept the night at niamhs howes we had grate fun together.’
 
April 1st (on making guesswork sound like fact): ‘Niamh came down to my howe on wernsday. we had grate fun together. i love niamh and she loves me too.’
 
April 2nd (more breaking news): ‘I went to games and it had been caunsald becose of the rain.’
 
April 3rd (first personal colmun): ‘I went swimming with school and got a new bord for swimming. my mummy helped in the swimming chanching rooms. and lara came down to my howe. I dont like lara.’ 
 
See what I mean? What right had I not to like someone over the fact that she probably just had the barbie playhouse I wanted? I think it wasn’t until about 2 years later that I would become good friends with Lara, so I hope she never reads this Lovez u.

For now I’m off howe to cook some sasij rolls and blw up ballonds. I will defo give my kids a diary when I eventually have them. Who knows, I might have another budding journo on my hands

Panic at the disco..

Terrified. Frozen to the spot. Veins full of ice. Panic attacks are no joke.
I had never suffered from it until this year. Before studying for an MA journalism, I had never cared and never had to try too hard in my education to get by. I never understood why people got exam nerves. I would stroll into an exam confident as could be, because I never cared if I failed. I was never up against such intelligent people before, aiming for something that I really wanted, and competing against them in such a concentrated way.
So when it started happening I felt really out of control and depressed. It was like someone was taking away my happy go lucky personality and replacing it with this person who was afraid of being certain situations. And it really began to affect my worklife and MA. I would avoid going to certain classes where I knew the panic attack would happen. After two or three visits to the nurse and doctor I felt like I was ready to lose my mind.
‘Write a shopping list in your head’ said my doctor.  ’Just give me the drugs,’ I replied. ‘I will give you the drugs but you have to go see and councellor,’ she had said writing out a prescription. So when I finally did have the guts to go to a councellor, this is what I am told: ‘Write a shopping list in your head.’ Now I don’t know if the councellor has ever had a panic attack but it takes more then a  shopping list to distract you from sheer unadulterated terror. I sat in an exam naming fruits and feeling like an idiot. ‘Ok.. banana.. orange.. lemon.. PANIC..gooseberry, strawberry..’ Its impossible to ignore a racing heart, and your stomach tying itself in knots by naming fruit. 
I’ve been told that if I try and ignore it for more then 10 or 15 minutes it will go away. It worked. I calmed down after 15 minutes and could do my exam. Its hard to just imagine the people I’m in a room with are not scary, or even the room itself is not a cage or prison of some kind. When a panic attack comes it takes all self-control not to run from the room like a wailing banshee. Sometimes I win and sometimes I lose. ‘You have unresolved anger’ said my councellor. I tell her I’m not a bottler. She tells me I am. ‘Your anxiety stems from your anger’ she says. ‘You swallow your emotions into your stomach as it were.’
Now I’ve made it through my MA and nearly finished I am happy with myself. I am nervous about the day when I soon have to start a job. I worry that panic attacks could ruin my choice of career – journalism. It’s already taken some of my social life and destoryed some elements of my degree ensuring that although I’ve worked hard, I haven’t necessarily got the best out of it that I could have.
All I’ve learned from this little blip on my radar is that I won’t let it beat me. As my mum used to say ‘I didn’t get where I am today..’ and it’s true. I didn’t get where I am today by giving up – and neither should anyone else.
If you suffer from something like this – don’t let it beat you. People won’t understand – they might treat you like you’re a bit crazy – but rememeber, noone is perfect. It’s your life, noone elses.

The following links might help you understand panic disorders better or get help yourself:

http://hcd2.bupa.co.uk/fact_sheets/mosby_factsheets/anxiety.html 

http://www.mirror.co.uk/life-style/real-life/2007/07/24/panic-attacks-115875-19510641/

http://www.nomorepanic.co.uk/

Moving House

One of those things most people hope they’ll never have to do is MOVE HOUSE. In my bedroom my biggest vice has always been wayward cups and drawers of anomily items, so the moving house thing is always a hassle. I can harbour up to 10 cups in my room at a time – one or two occasionally get a chance to grow their own culture of mould. Perhaps organised people don’t find moving cribs such a chore, but for me it spells only doom. 
It has been even worse this year while living on the third floor of shared accomodation – the kitchen is a whole two floors of stairs away.. not an incentive to go and get your old glass. Then living with 9 other people, I’d have to find a time noone was around to bring all of them down – the noise of glasses banging together as you sneak down the stairs is quite distinctive.
So this week, it was my 9th time to move house - I’ve become quite good at it, but I still despair when I get to the drawers full of random stuff. It takes so long to sort through because if you know anything about moving house you know there is categories for everything. So you have your black refuse sacks for the clothes. Boxes for your plates, cutlery, books and DVD’s. Bag or a box for your important documents. Bag for your lotions and potions. Shoes can be taken as they are. Mirrors and guitars need no packing. But its the uncategorisable stuff that causes me the most headache. Batteries – where do 14 batteries go? What category does my dictaphone fit into, what about coat hangers?

I've told you a million times! you're not coming to my new house...

What about that weird calendar I got from the chinese restaurant in Spain, or the bluetooth headset I never used. The old earphones? The random free conditioners, the disposible razors, old copies of Cosmo which are heavy but I dont wanna get rid of, old phones, free keyrings that are hideous but have a bottle opener on them.. the free mcdonalds happy meals toys? Hours of labourous sorting through crap.. it’s like a horribly boring game of marry, shoot or shag. Keep or chuck. Recycling or normal bin. Need or don’t need.. Because you can bet if you throw it, you’ll end up wanting it the following week for some reason (maybe never the mcdonalds toys but you know what I mean). Then there is the horrible dilemma of where to pack ‘the embarrassing stuff’. You know, every girls got the drawer, or if not a drawer, things which she keeps in parts of her room which if she died suddenly in an accident she would hope her friends would dispose of before her parent(s) found… underwear from ann summers that would make your granny faint in shock, rabbit toys and the like. For boys I assume here it would be a er, collection of literature of the magazine kind perhaps. So there’s that to contend with on top of everything else. ‘NO! Don’t go in THAT bag’ you may hear yourself screeching. 
Even worse is  moving on a hot sunny day.. but don’t even go there. 
I learned several things this time. 1. Get it done in one go if possible – it’s like ripping off a plaster - the quicker the better 2. If it’s really hot just do it in your underwear, clothes mean extra weight and sweat 3. Music is a great help to keep your spirits up. 4. Don’t put on Westlife or slow songs.. you will at some point find yourself emotional about leaving and the memories will flood back. 5. Put on upbeat stuff and you will be packing with a smile! 6. Remember, no matter how frustrating it gets, soon it will all be over!

If you wanna read about moving away for university check out my article in the independent at:

http://www.independent.ie/education/features/why-i-crossed-the-irish-sea-1759270.html