February 01, 2006

Don't Be Afraid of Turnips

They won't eat you, silly, you eat them.

I wrote about whores. It was inevitable really.

I turned twenty three this week and celebrated with burgers in Eddie Rockets and eight friends. It was good. I received an unholy amount of presents, the most original of which had to be from the delightful Hot Anorak who bought me a COWBELL - yes that's right - A COWBELL - to attach to my drumkit and hit to make nice noises. I haven't worked out how to attach it to the drums but when I do, the neighbours will never sleep again. Maybe the cowbell will finally provide me with some common ground with the cows in the field behind my house (that's right! we have cows! and we are 30 mins drive from Dublin city! ha! it's ridiculous!). Me and those cows have never gotten close. This is probably the glue that will bind us together forever now. I thought this day would never come. Hallelujah! Moo!

I did a brave thing and faced potential rejection by applying to UCD for a masters degree in library and information studies, which will qualify me as a sexy librarian who will seductively remove her glasses from time to time to stun the nerds. I have decided to reject the place awaiting my presence in NUIM in bioethics. If I have learned anything from my current job, it is that I do not enjoy working alone, and an MLitt and PhD in bioethics is a very much alone thing. So no. NO. I want to do something where I talk to people, albeit in whispers. I will keep you posted on my imminent failures.

I did something bizarre in my masters application that nobody could understand without context. I included in the envelope a poem that I wrote last summer. It was a risk and it will either prove to be the clincher or the nail in my large coffin. Either way, I am glad I sent it. I have my damn reasons, you goddamn judgers.

OG is moaning on about being hit on by a guy who helped her out in an awkward situation. Why moan OG? WHY? I think that's a delightful way to meet a potential fertilising machine. Be glad, I say, be glad!

I have been dreaming quite a bit recently about my cousins, none of whom I have seen in many years despite their nearness geographically. Is my subconscious speaking to me? Or are my dreams just meandering poo like everybody else's? Dream analysis my arse. I would rather eat two bags of uncooked frozen peas in Tesco than study dream analysis. PIH. That's me spitting on the subject.

I have spent the whole evening writing. It was a good way to spend the evening. My brain is slightly stretched; a bit shapeless. Off I go now.

neuro-praxis -- Makes The People Come Together

Posted by neuro-praxis on February 1, 2006 09:25 PM, in the category Limb Infections