March 23, 2005

The Future Is No Place to Place Your Better Days

Well it would appear that I have returned from the dead. Death wasn't as bad as I expected it to be, but I am sure that this is something that you will see for yourself as time goes by, unless you are some kind of ethereal spirit that simply floats about the place as a glowing orb of light and hangs round retro nightclubs. In that case, I'm not sure if death will ever darken your door.

Well, the housemates have been away, holidaying around the coast in one of their fathers' boats. I feel so darned poor. We never even had a caravan. Hell, we didn't even have a car. We would just sit in large cardboard boxes obtained from skips nearby, paint wheels on them, and drive away with our imaginations.

Those were the days.

K was also away, doing some sort of scavenger hunt or something for work. He was gone four days, leaving me rattling around the vast expanse of our three bed semi in the isolated housing estates of Kilcock. No housemates, no husband.

So what would any self-respecting Irish woman do in such lonely circumstances? You got it: have a Lancôme makeover party! No I'm lying. (None of you thought for a moment that that might be true though anyway, right?) No, instead, I had a killer tinny party with more Dutch Gold and rowdy neighbours than you could shake a stick at. No...that's also untrue. I watched a few movies with some friends, caught up with my brother, ate some Japanese food, soaked up some Dublin sun.

I also found my spiritual home: the mosque. No, not the mosque. I don't love Allah: I love Jesus. ROLL ON EASTER. No, my new spiritual home is Café en Seine on Dawson Street. I spent Sunday afternoon lounging there with some of my lady friends and a rather friendly fellow from Leuven, the town in Belgium where Stella Artois is brewed (thanks Leuven for your tasty and expensive beer!). There was a jazz band but no cover fee, my Chardonnay was five euros a glass but the most expensive meal on the menu was €11, and almost everything was made of marble. MARBLE, BABY. It was French. It was pretentious. It was artsy. It was laid-back, but real laid back - not posey laid-back. There was no pressure to keep buying drink after drink as the waiting staff were too busy preening themselves and swapping phone numbers and black clothing to give a fiddler's fart about what we were up to (which just happened to be stealing the compost from the vases of the forty-foot indoor tree by our table, frantically shoving it into our handbags). Dreamy.

So I didn't get anywhere with my thesis in the last ten days but to discuss that would mean I have to take some of my "relaxation pills".

(Oh how I wish I had "relaxation pills".)

I saw The Machinist tonight. I won't review it; blog movie reviews are the pits. THE PITS. That's something my mother always says. My mother often gets a mention round these parts actually, doesn't she? Well I suppose it is reasonable seeing as I grew inside her nutritious womb for nine months.

Here she is, then, in fine form.

Back to the movie. Maybe watch it, but go in a good mood. It has left me feeling about as cheerful as a chubby ovarian cyst. Go read the reviews for yourself that I linked to it, and take care to wear your meat helmet (or whatever it is that you use for comfort) before viewing.

Speaking of ovarian cysts, due to some menstrual irregularities (am I allowed to discuss this without people dropping dead of shame?) I began to fear that I had some. Cysts, that is. Several hours with the doctor and lots of stolen blood and urine samples later, I was set free today with a large prescription for hormones of some kind, and it would appear that all is not well with neuro-praxis. She shall deal with this henceforth by referring to herself in the third person. But fear not: neuro-praxis will probably mention the outcome of the tests at some point in the future if she is in a divulge-atory mood. For now, she will be nursing her bruised veins and empty wallet. (Heroin? Heroine?)

The first rule of period club is -- you do not talk about period club.

So what else has been happening? We've been preparing at church (site under construction, by the way) for the biggest gala (GA-LA-LA-LA!) of the year. May I invite each of you to our Sunday evening Easter celebration - March 27th at 7pm in Maynooth Post Primary School. It should be good. You'll made welcome.

And Bono is coming. YES.

Well, that's the cookies out on the plate. I'm off to listen to some delightfully chilled Silje Nergaard now and to drink some tea; strong with a little milk (are you taking notes?). And maybe talk to that guy I accidentally married six months ago (half year anniversary tomorrow, folks).

It's been great, thanks very much. I'll be here all week.

neuro-praxis -- Showcasing For The Profligate

Posted by neuro-praxis on March 23, 2005 02:08 PM, in the category Limb Infections