Writer's Blockade

I'm not nearly as great of a writer as I used to be. There was a time when 'author' was the first thing out of my mouth when someone questioned what I wanted to be when I grew up. When I was 9 years old I first felt the urge to get the words out of my head, when I was 11 I wrote a 3,000 word short story that was pretty damn good for being in 5th grade and for years I worked almost daily on a novel that's now sitting stagnant at 31,033 words- 114 pages- and hasn't been edited since 2007. It's now 2013 and this blog is my biggest creative writing accomplishment since that book fragment (and how creative is it really?). I've written some fairly good research papers, which were stressful and fun, but still- research papers. The characters from my abandoned 2007 creation still linger in my mind, but are almost always silenced and relegated to the very far back of my mental to-do list.

For a long time growing up I didn't have very many friends or talk to much of anyone outside a select few, so writing was all I had, and now looking back, I realize that I stopped intensely writing around the time that I started to learn to speak. While that's been a major triumph, it's definitely a bittersweet trade off. I'm put to shame by my preteen self, because that Catherine, with all of her issues, could sure spin the words. Hopefully, I'm just rusty. I've journalled and vented and faked my way through poetry, was squashed by my high school literary magazine and haven't had much courage since to write about anything besides myself (hence, this blog), where at least there I knew I could never be wrong.

This weekend, I'm headed out to Connemara National Park with the NUIG Writer's Society, for a few days of workshops and inspiration and I don't even know what else. Joining that club has proven to be a very good decision, though I'm terrified for the part of this weekend that involves getting up and reading (preforming?) something we've written in front of the group- all of whom are incredibly talented and far better practiced at this sort of thing. It's just after 2 am here in Galway, and I'm supposedly working on a short story that hasn't gotten much longer or better in the many hours I've been sitting at my computer thinking about it. I've dug through the old treasures, wondered at the contents of my lost handwritten notebooks, and now somehow come up with this post that was originally going to be about the music scene in Galway. Oh well.

I'm taking an extracurricular class on Monday nights about 'Global Issues' that I'll definitely make sure to talk about later, but at the opening of this past week's session, we were all instructed to talk about a positive memory in our education. Normally I'd panic at that sort of personal sharing, but it didn't take long for me to choose my happy recollection- almost like a Patronus, I thought of the moment in 5th grade after turning in that lengthy short story when my teacher/mentor asked for a dedicated copy of my first book. I can't possibly overstate the incredible internal balloon of self-confidence that gave me, and it's often been the motivation keeping me going on this path: declaring an English major for the whim of my soul, rather than anything intentionally practical. 

Recently I've been posting my blogs on Facebook mostly out of the vain desire to get more views, something I probably won't do with this overly personal rant, but I'd like to give a shout-out now to my family and friends who read this and keep me going with it, because it's turning into a really important part of my life that pushes out other non-necessities like actual homework assignments and sleep. Mostly right now, however, the shout out goes to Sonya, who yesterday asked if I'd ever put my travel journals into some sort of book, and jolted me back into the place of wanting to write something big and worthwhile. Also, everyone should really go check out this blog that my friend Katie in Rome has been publishing almost daily for a very long time, and who also motivates me to get a move on with updating about my life each time I log into blogspot and see a new post of hers and mine still four days behind. Really though, it's funny and interesting and she linked to me ages ago and it truly made my day so I figure it's time to return the favor. 

It's now 2:30 and I have to get up for class in 6 hours, so I'm going to close out here for the time being. This post was never intended but it's another one of those 'mental adventures' that I think are worth sharing. I'd planned to just write about writing after this weekend, when it will probably still be on my mind, but now this is out and sometimes things are better when they're not planned. Hopefully I'll find some inspiration on the hills of Connemara in the next few days- I'll let you know. 

P.S. I Love Glendalough

I've been trying to figure out why writing about exciting weekends is so overwhelming, and the best explanation I've come up with for this ridiculous block is that there's just too much to talk about: so I don't want to just list off interesting things in a way that makes them boring and leaves out the narrative part, but I also can't bear to cut out anything that went into making it a whole and complete experience. So instead, I just give you a lengthy introductory paragraph apologizing for what will inevitably be a pretty good post if I can push it out of my fingers. But anyway. I apologize for the delay. ♥

This past weekend I embarked on the sort of last-minute hectic adventure I'd so hoped for when I set out on this grand Irish journey, and it was everything it should have been: there were mountains and faeries, zombies, goats, snowy ruins and lots of impromptu singing. Also sheep- it's not an Irish adventure without sheep.

Sticking to my goal of making the most out of every weekend here (and they're going fast), I headed out with two friends to Wicklow Mountain National Park, of P.S. I Love You fame, an enormous outdoor nature preserve fairly far away from anything else- including a grocery store. We 'roughed it' like true backpackers for my first mini-taste of what that would really entail: I brought too many clothes, too much fruit, and no gloves. We cooked pasta dinner at our absolutely lovely hostel (the best I've been at yet!) and were subsequently completely upstaged by the four-course meal prepared by the French travelers at the next table. Another way in which we blatantly stood out was when we were roughly a quarter of the way up the mountain (not counting the lengthy trek back), and all of the local intense hikers were practically fleeing the trail as it began to snow, all of them skeptically wishing us luck as we determinedly marched along our way like the elephants from Jungle Book on a trail that began with a sign reading "Beware of Bear".

On the mountain, we ran into, thankfully no bears, but a herd of wild deer! I also almost sat on some sort of dead animal while attempting to take shelter in a cave, and I tripped more than twice, mostly over my own feet. My legs and overall body have yet to recover from the unprecedented physical exertion- we surpassed 18 miles, and there were definitely moments where I wanted nothing more than a rest. We took plenty, but I was also challenged to keep climbing: much like the overall scheme of this semester so far, I'd say.

I'd said this about my life plenty of times before, and often not always for positive reasons, but a lot of moments this weekend really felt like something out of a movie. We wandered through ruins of an ancient mining town in a mini-blizzard, underestimated the time it took us to trek a path and ended up casually strolling through a crumbling graveyard in the undead of night...except not casually at all, it was really terrifying. The paths flecked with snow, winding trails at dusk and trickling sometimes-frozen waterfalls made me really feel like this was the place where real Irish faeries live. For lunch on the second day there, we fairly literally stumbled upon the perfect shelter built out of branches and logs by some better-prepared adventurers  and delightedly profited from their skills. And as much as I continually compared everything to some of my favorite films (See those cliffs? Lord of the Rings. Those trees? Totally Narnia. Oh that boulder? Princess Bride, all the way, come on out, Fezzik!), it was actually pretty logical because Wicklow is a major site of movie locations, and right next door to the park we could see road signs for Hollywood- a tiny town that's lent its name to the big one in California we all know so well.

When all was said and done, we never were eaten by zombies, climbed a few fences and non-trails in reckless shortcut discovery, visited a lot of sites named after St. Kevin- it was basically his old stomping grounds there, almost accidentally stole a stranger's dog, and were overall just immersed in the extreme natural beauty of the park. The pictures cannot possibly do it justice, but I've found that my posts look better with them and I'd like to at least try to show you what I mean about the view: because I can't adequately describe it in words, either. (But if I'm trying, I might as well keep going.) Here's us at the place were the sky crashed into the earth. The lake looked like God had washed out his paintbrush in it after putting a finishing touch on the snow-capped  mountains, and basically- like I captioned one of my Facebook photos and mentioned then in real life too, this view and experience is the reason I came to Ireland. It wasn't for the Guinness, though that can be nice, or for the trad music, though that's probably my favorite bonus, or even for the academics like I've always been saying. It for was this view, physically, as well as the mental view of How Big the world can be...and I've found it. Thanks, Glendalough.

For the Love of Brown Bread

From ugali in East Africa to an abundance of curry in New Delhi, falafel in the Middle East and paella in Pais Vasco, one of the greatest parts of travelling is the ability to dive into a world of new smells, textures and tastes. While the northwest of Europe is perhaps not the most famed for it's culinary expertise, I have quite enjoyed the food here, and now I'm going to tell you about it! So enjoy.

Pictured to the left is a snapshot of my food cabinet at the moment, including a few goods moved over for show from the fridge I share with my roommates, who are as a whole much better at cooking and eating healthy than I am. Not seen is what's in the freezer: hot dogs, chicken nuggets, fish sticks, green beans, potato wedges, and bread (to prevent it from going stale). Nothing too outrageously different than what I'd have at home!

A couple of items are marked with a generic blue and white wrapping: St. Bernard's is the supermarket brand from my local grocery of choice, Dunnes, which I've mentioned before I think. Anyway, they have really cheap and good food which makes it less likely for me to trek 10 minutes out to the discount stores, Aldi and Lidl, so well done marketing team! 82 cent bread, 45 cent chocolate chip cookies I devour like no one's business, peanuts and pasta and sauce under a euro and loads of other goodness. Also pictured in the cabinet is a jar of so-so peanut butter, unfinished because I gave it up for lent after absolutely killing several jars of the more expensive (3 euro!) PANDA PEANUT BUTTER which is everything I love in the world. Seriously, it's better than the stuff at home, I will eat an entire jar as an Easter present to myself and likely import a couple jars home at the end of all this. And it's pandas, so what more could I ever want? (Maybe a coupon every once and a while, Dunnes, cough.)

I suppose a typical rundown of what I'll eat in a day would be an appropriate thing to write about here. Breakfast, on the days when I'm not running late for class, is often tea, toast with strawberry jam, and sometimes oatmeal. Lunch is almost always a baked ham and cheese sandwich, except for Wednesday college bar lunches, and I'm apt to carry around several pieces of fruit during the day for lunch or snacking or boredom eating. Apples, oranges, and bananas are all sold in small bags by Dunnes- two types for 3 euro, which is great and encourages me to eat more fruit. I carry around my dented blue globe water bottle (RIP green flowered one), though there are far less working water fountains here, but it's still a good practice. Dinner is mostly pasta, rice, or soup, with chicken or fish sticks, and peas or green beans, and bread. Sometimes I branch out a little but that's the base and it can be tiring but it gets me through. :)

When I'm not cooking for myself, I do occasionally eat food prepared by the Irish, which I guess is more of the question people really want answered when they inquire about my meals. Tea is a major staple of all daytime gatherings here, along with wonderful 'biscuits', cookies of all types readily available at everything from casual meetings to formal information sessions. I have had one full Irish breakfast when Ariel came to visit in January, and will probably have it again when I have other visitors to this dreary and lovely island. Fish and chips and bangers and mash are other big touristy staples, of which I've only had the former, and one of the nicest new comfort foods I know is simple Irish brown bread. I can't describe it, so you will just need to come here and eat some yourself and enjoy!

I really have liked having an abundance of fresh food at my fingertips, though I haven't taken advantage of all of it, mostly just cheese. But it's great cheese. There's a market on the weekends I've only visited once with spectacular fresh doughnuts, and though the thought of blood pudding still makes my stomach turn, I have been well fed here, without a doubt.

P.S. Pizza is different. There's frozen ones and Papa Johns that are fairly similar to back home, but from restaurants pizza is a really fancy big deal that you eat with a fork and knife.

Jersey Girl in London

London has been difficult to discuss: when people ask to hear about it, I sort of blank and vaugely reference "all the touristy things", as if to brush the weekend off as not a big deal, but in reality, it was a really awesome experience. I think part of it still feels not quite real- it came and went and happened and here I am back in Ireland. Seeing London has been a dream of mine for years now, a desire aggravated by the number of instances I've been stuck in 10-hour Heathrow layovers and unable to venture out and explore. This time, though, we did leave the airport for a fantastic three day stopover in the city of so many stories I've inhabited day by page.

In the interest of space, I'll get right into the not-so-mini rundown of 'what I did and saw'.

We took the Stanstead Express train from the RyanAir sketch airport, which was expensive but gave us a booklet of very nice '2 for 1' deals on most of the major attractions we were planning to visit anyway, and ended up probably saving money. :) This left us off fairly close to the Tower of London so we headed that way rather than finding the hostel, running on about 2 hours of sleep, and walked under London Bridge without it falling down, marveled in the beauty of the Thames, took loads of pictures of the Tower Bridge and were mobbed by pigeons outside the actual Tower (which wasn't very tall- more of a fortress). Inside, we saw the sparkily and beautiful crown jewels (that's saying something, coming from 'ick jewelry' me), lots of old war outfits and artifacts, then quick hopped on the tube over to the area we'd frequent the next few days sort of a lot: Big Ben and the London Eye! 

I skipped out on a ride on the London Eye- a giant ferris wheel overlooking the whole city, which I do regret a little bit, but while my friends were up there I was able to explore a bit around on my own; always a favorite pastime in big new cities. I stumbled upon the 'garden museum', found a walled in old library and rang the buzzer to ask to see the archives and was politely turned away, but oh well, and kind of slummed around the pretty park full of statues in front of Westminster Abbey and the Big Ben Parliament Building. Their collection of statues was interesting to me: I mean, Winston Churchill is a logical given, but it was refreshing to also see stonework figures of Nelson Mandela and Abe Lincoln. So I took loads of pictures of them, which are worth thousands of words and it's probably in everyone's best interest to just look at my Facebook album to get a good idea for what I saw.

From the Big Ben central area, we made our way by tube to the hostel in Russell Square, which was in a fantastic location but with amenities severely lacking. I've experienced two other hostels here this trip: one in Dublin and one in Cork, but both were head and shoulders above this place with barracks style bunking, though the price matched so I can't complain and am getting used to using old shirts as towels. One day I'll look back at all of this and be thankful I saved money- right? Also to note, London is incredibly expensive, being pounds and all, but I super-budgeted most of the time and enjoyed several almost-expired-discount £1.67 Tesco sandwich meals during the course of the weekend. That night, we stopped by the neighboring British museum and checked out the Rosetta Stone (there was probably a lot more there worth seeing but I was running on empty and not in a museum-seeing mood) and clocked in early, because we got up early again the next day!

Saturday featured Trafalgar Square, Westminster Abbey, and the Globe Theater! All were fantastic, educational and seem like a blur looking back. Westminster especially- everything was so beautiful, and important, that it's hard to even keep track of how many ancient graves we saw and walked over: really, the place was so full that some of the lesser-important important people had some folding chairs on top of their spots of eternal rest. That was kind of sad. At the Globe I had freshman year of High School English class flashbacks as I frolicked as a groundling and already knew a lot of the trivia from our happy guide. They have shows there still sometimes, though the upcoming season doesn't start until April. That night we'd planned to go around the pubs, but found that unlike in Ireland, the English ones seemed to be more for eating and old people, and clubs were the nightlife place of choice for us twenty-somethings (that seems so weird. Why am I so old). So we were just incredibly under-dressed by the standards of London clubbers and instead walked down to the London Eye and Big Ben, sat on a bench along the Thames, talked and listened to One Direction. Everything was lit up, and it was a really great moment: probably my favorite bit from the trip, even factoring in how many amazing things we'd seen the past two days. Maybe that seems silly, but as I discussed the next night when I met up with an old friend from high school, it's the people you spend time with that make life worth living.

As this London Post gets ever longer, I'll wrap up with Sunday. In the morning I fulfilled my childhood dreams and pushed a cart through the wall at King's Cross Station, experienced a bit of fairytale princess life at the Buckingham Palace changing of the guard, and snuck for a moment into the high-rolling life of a celebrity at Harrod's department store. We walked through Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens to the statue of child-forever Peter Pan, and finished up our London experience with a Broadway show, Jersey Boys! Our seats were terrible and I'd only eaten a double hostel breakfast and a Cadbury bar (heavenly) up until that point, but the show was really very enjoyable. I liked mostly all of the New Jersey shout outs as a welcome feeling from home, compounded later after the show when I grabbed dinner and a pint at a pub with a friend I hadn't really talked to very much since graduation.

Much as I adored the Harry Potter perfection of this past weekend, and was swept up with the thrill of seeing the landmarks I'd admired from afar for so long, coming 'home' to Ireland was really welcome at the end. London was a big city, kind of similar to Dublin, but more what I saw as a combination of D.C. and New York (I was thinking about how the early American cities were modeled after the British ones, after all). Galway's ubiquitous trad music, cobbled streets, rain and brogue seemed just right after a wonderful, but very tiring, weekend holiday. So as much as I loved it, it is good to be back. 

Holidays Happened and Upcoming

I'm coming on the tail end of a string of celebrations in Ireland, though I'm not sure if I should count Ash Wednesday as a celebration or just a solemn holy day. Holiday! Pretty sure those words are the same thing, which is cool. I'm also about to embark on a 'holiday', as they call it here, of a long weekend in London! Anyway, I started writing this a few days ago but am just now going back through, finishing up and changing a bit around.

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday, and I went to mass at the Galway Cathedral which is grand and beautiful, and was able to be a part of in the ceremony that drove me to think of so many sober similar occasions back home, including that one Good Friday when I fainted in the back of church and hit my head on the stone floor which burst some pimple on my forehead and prompted everyone to think I had a skull wound. Not this time, though. It was peaceful and nice, where the only major difference was the application of the actual ashes was done with a little head stamp, rather than the priest's thumb, which I'm not totally sure how I feel about. I mean, it does make the actual cross nice and neat, but it seems in a way more impersonal.

So naturally falling before the start of Lent, this week also featured Fat Tuesday! And in Ireland (and maybe other parts of the world too), that means pancake day. It was a huge deal that everyone seemed to be celebrating: when I ran out to the local supermarket for some syrup and vegetable oil (which wasn't there, so we used sunflower oil which was cheaper and did the same thing), it was full of people all there for the same reason. There was a big display of premade packaged pancakes, bottles of special syrup I don't think they ever normally have, nutella and loads of other toppings. Shops all along the main retail area were featuring pancakes, and every Irish person I spoke to was excited for the event. I even met another foreigner in Dunnes' trying to decide if she should just get olive oil, both of us planning for similar events.

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(The above was mostly written two nights ago, only reworded to sound recent, but this is new. I just deleted a whole paragraph talking about how I've been spending Valentine's Day and yesterdays Galentine's Day, a celebration of girldom from the TV series Parks and Recreation. But it all sounded forced and diary-like so we'll change track.)

Valentine's has been a little bittersweet this year as it marks about a third of the way through the long-distance part of my relationship, but it's also been nice to see everyone dressed in pink and I have also been eating a lot of chocolate recently as a part of Pancake Day and the aforementioned Galentine's. Thankfully, though, I've been keeping incredibly busy today- I leave Galway for London in just about 10 hours for the first part of a madcap three hour bus ride to Dublin for our 6am flight, which is also my first experience with the notorious discount airline RyanAir. I've read and reread their terms and conditions, and if I'm safely back home Monday afternoon without having paid any exorbitant fees I will consider it a tremendous win.

I'm finishing up this post quickly now, sitting in the library of NUIG at long last, after being locked out for a couple hours because it was on fire: I'd been waiting to get onto one of their computers for a good while, finally sat down and was cheerily opening my email when the alarm went off. It'd happened once last week too, then accompanied by the voice of a gentle man repeatedly explaining that fire had been spotted in the building, and that we should all wait for further instructions. Nothing ever came of that, though I was a bit concerned, but this time we were all forcibly made to evacuate and it smelled like smoke...and I lost my prized spot at the computer. I'm back now though, hogging it with writing, and am finally sort of figuring out a plan for London. I'd made a pretty comprehensive one earlier and accidentally not saved it, so I didn't really have the heart to recreate it until now...probably not the best idea.

So, away I go. Next time I write it will be about London, unless I oversleep and miss my bus tomorrow or my carry-on bag weighs too much or immigration doesn't let me back in the country or I just decide to sit at King's Cross Station until September 1st. Happy Valentine's Day, and if you like, take a moment to enjoy this song that I decided a few years ago that I would always try to listen to on this day, no matter what was going on in my life, as a nice reminder of how important love is to every human person- and to never overlook that. It's nice. Enjoy!

The Limerick Post

A girl who came from the US of A
Was wand'ring round Limerick one day.
She spied a book jacket
And sure 'twas no racket
Brought it back to Gal(a)way bay!

Okay, well the meter is kind of off and it's not particularly funny or evocative of my weekend as a whole, but there is a limerick for you, my faithful readers. I'm far from a poet, as my attempts to create something worth reading at Writers Soc have made clear to me the past week. But blog posts and essays, I can do that, so here as promised is the rundown of my yesterday in Limerick!

I hinted at the highlights from this little day trip a bit in my last post, so I'll hit on all of those, and hopefully a few more tidbits if I can recall any funny or interesting ones. Limerick was a rather last minute venture, an attempt to, as I've been saying, make the most out of every weekend. Flipping through my Ireland guidebook on the bus over, I realized that Limerick was passed over not only as a major section, but there wasn't even one mention of the third largest city in Ireland! No matter, we were on our way and it was going to be great. The weather did mostly hold up, but once my friend Alexa and I found the tourist office on the river Shannon (everything's on rivers!) we were sadly informed that we had definitely picked the wrong day to visit: the castle was closed for renovations, the major museum wasn't open that day, and the other smaller museum cost 5 euro but was free on Sundays. Sunday! Everywhere else we'd been to that point was closed on Sundays, so we'd assumed that Saturday was the better day for a short trip.

But we plugged on. The major attraction the friendly tourist office woman recommended was the Milk Market, an outdoor bazaar with much more than milk. I liked it even better than the English Market in Cork, even though it was definitely less well-established. Maybe it was the informal hectic atmosphere of it all, but parts of it reminded me of outdoor markets from India and Africa, although that could have been due to several stalls hawking curry and blasting Bollywood tunes. So that was nice. I ended up not buying any food from the market, despite being strongly tempted by the pastries and a delicious free sample of cheddar cheese infused with chocolate. But if you look back up to my pitiful poem, it's not hard to guess what I did cave and buy...another Harry Potter book, the fifth and largest, and in hardcover. But it's the British cover! So that's cool, right? I've come to terms with my book-buying habit and decided that if I call it a collection, it becomes more acceptable. I'm going to try to get all of the British versions (I only need 3 more), and write in the front cover where I got them, and when, which should be nice to look back on in later years.

Because of the unfortunate day we picked to visit, there wasn't too much else touristy to do in the city, but there was one other open major site to see: a 900 year old church! Yeah, old churches again- but this one was really old. St. Mary's Cathedral was founded in 1168, but built quite a bit earlier. A former Viking meetinghouse, it's been in use as a place of worship for absolutely ages, and standing inside was a very humbling experience. Devoid of sweeping gothic structure, the grounds were fairly creepy- we were the only visitors in sight, surrounded by crumbling gravestones and ominously cawing crows. The crows were what did it. Inside, we were made to feel rather guilty for not donating to the restoration fund, and I still feel like I ought to have. But, one of the cool things we did see, besides the old doors and stained glass windows, were these wooden armrests basically, all lined up along the walls, relics of an age when the congregation were forbidden to sit during a service. You'd basically lean back into the little wooden half-circle, propping your arms up on the sides, and still be technically standing, but more comfortable!

So while those were the two planned sights, we did quite literally stumble upon one other- an enormous socialist protest against 'austerity', full of unions chanting against an old dead politician, and it took us quite a while to figure out exactly what they were on about. I'm not going to comment too much on their aims, since I promised my mom I'd stay out of any political protests and avoid getting arrested. Still, I was definitely impressed with their passion and drive to change the system, and was happy to take their protest info sheets and become educated on the evils of debt and no jobs. There was a big stage, bagpipes, flags, signs galore, little yappy dogs with no idea why they were there, and some African drummers. At first, I thought it was a parade, but before long did trail alongside them joining in with their chant of "they say cut back, we say fight back! Fight back!" So that was fun, and I didn't even get deported.

Limerick ended up being a perfect little day trip sandwiched between big weekends in Cork and the upcoming one to London. While there was sadly nothing at all touristy for me to take a picture of referencing Limerick poems, I did pay homage to a Richard Harris statue, bother a coffee-shop waiter after misreading a sign I thought was advertising coffee and a scone for 1 euro (you got a scone for that price if you bought a 3 euro coffee...I should have known it was too good to be true), and check another Irish city off my list of places to see. It was a good day, and I think the city deserves a bit more recognition in the guidebooks.

No Day But Today

Like several others, this post has been rumbling around in my head for a while now- pretty much since I last updated about Cork and Blarney, each day adding a little bit to the theme at hand, reminding me more and more about how much it controls my life: time. Several moments throughout my life so far I've been struck with the feeling that I'm living in a movie, some scripted ridiculousity of coincidence and fantasy- periods where events and people seemed to do the exact right thing at the right time, or push the farcical opposite.

I've been here for a bit over a month now, seen loads and thought more, written some and lived mostly all of it. A general mantra I've been mindful of during this period is the notion of "this too shall pass", which a little research tells me originated in an ancient Sufi poem, repeated by Lincoln and countless others. It's both happy and sad at the same time, but a stronghold in difficulties as well: everything you've got going on right now will change in the future, both good and bad, so enjoy the positives while they're here, and don't fret too much about the negatives, because they can't last forever. :)

One of my biggest (and most time consuming) projects here right now has been mapping out the rest of my weekends, attempting to really suck the marrow out of this trip and make as many moments into memories as I can. Homesickness, which comes in mostly unpredictable waves, seems to be easier to hold off when I keep busy, and really I've always been happiest when I'm occupied, which makes sense. I finally set up a big old Google calendar and enjoyed filling it up with different colored lines of Things To Do, and have been plodding through pages of potential RyanAir and AerLingus offerings for hours. Next weekend I'm headed to London for three days (ahh!), and just yesterday I booked a flight to Austria directly on the tail end of the Ireland tour with my dad and Maggie- while seeing my bank account steadily deplete is a little sickening, I know it'll be worth it, and I'd rather spend money on doing rather than having.

When the homesickness does manage to poke it's horns through to me, I like to think of what people might be doing at that time, as well as recalling fond memories, and doing so generally takes a little bit of mental math to work out the time zones. I always remember the first time I really had a sense of the world's size and the arbitrary nature of time, watching the sunset in Spain at sixteen and realizing that as it moved away for us, it was still going up towards home (yes- I know it's the earth that's actually moving).

Another time-musing I've had stems from the basic idea that we have just this one life; it's a timeline where we're always moving forward. Mine now is filling up with travel excitement, new events and people, but I do have a very limited period in Europe: three and a half months, and counting. It's a weird contradiction of that sometimes feeling too unbearably long before I can see home again, while simultaneously far too soon of a deadline to experience all that I want out of this trip. I'm enduring and embracing, and that's good. Through a lot of the books I've been reading for class (and there have been many), as well as conversations with one woman in particular at the elder-care center I visit, I'm reminded that people are all people, with stories and fears and histories and futures, and that this is only one chapter in my own life saga which must eventually conclude. So I'm trying to write a good one.

This past week was 'Musicailt' on campus, a celebration of the performing arts. As part of it, I went to a poetry reading of the Writer's Society, a group who's email list I've been on for weeks but never managed to get to, and it was a great experience- I didn't get up to read anything, but I think I'm going to go back to more of their meetings...it seemed like a really welcoming and accepting environment. Reading anything I make out loud to a group of strangers is a scary prospect, but probably a worthwhile one. I met up with a few of the students from that group tonight for a production of Rent by NUIG students. It was moving and wonderful, a story I hadn't really thought too much about since I first watched it freshman year at La Salle. And from that show comes the title for this post, an anthem of life and action and dreaming. So I'll just leave it here, goodnight to all and thank you always for reading. ♥

(I also went to Limerick today- I'll maybe write about that soon. Socialist protest, 900 year old church, another Harry Potter book, chocolate cheese, and no poems.)