Something more...

There is a possibility I'm slightly lost. A possibility I take the long way around in everything I do. A possibility I haven't a clue what I'm doing . Ever look at your friends and think hey, they've clearly got it all sorted? Ever look at your life and feel like it's burning to the ground? Okay, dramatic maybe, but I know we all feel that way sometimes. I know I do at the moment. No income. No job. No finished book. Still living at home. Still living in Dublin. Adventures feel few and far between. 

I'm a smiley, happy person. Positive and optimist and so sure I'm doing the right thing. Except I'm not sure any more. Searching for the answer, for the something more is, exhausting. But... Is this it? Is there not something more? Does this happen to others? This biting, hollowing need to be somewhere else? The need for something else? The fear you'll never get to where you want to be?

I live with the longing for the away-ness. I live with the want for something I may never have. 

It's the normal bits, see? The every days parts that I find challenging. I live for the highs, for the moments where you are so truly alive and so immersed in life that the rest of it fades away.
I'm a writer.
I collect stories and those are the best places for them.
I'm a dreamer.
I collect moments and use them to remind myself of how good life is.

Because it is so amazing, so awesome, so much better than they let you believe with their mortgages and permanent jobs and gaps in your C.V.  With early mornings and never enough sleep and no magic and broken hearts. With bills and rent and tax and crappy shoes.

It's the stories that last.
The moments.
The perfect ones and the painful ones. 

Right there, crystallising your life into one solid second. Their are ones that changed me radically and irrevocably. Took who I was and twisted it into something different. Sometimes with sharp edges that people cut themselves off. Other times I was softened into something warm, attracting people to me so they could bask in the safety, the calm. Life isn't down in the day to day stuff, the bits you forget. Life is the night that doesn't leave you, or that train stop that allowed you to breathe again, or the kiss that broke your heart. It is the friends that put it back together and the man of steel and the comic book lover and the festivals and the laughing. 

It is when you pause, take a breath and think, that was it.
That was something important. 

At least for me it is. 

These moments happen when you least expect them but you need to pay attention to them and collect them, add them to who you are and let them change you. Change, grow, hope, wish, live, be and do. Do something, do everything. Never stop trying and finding and learning. Because they are so easy to lose in the screech of alarms and the traffic jams and work and coffee and co-workers and arguments and TV and housework and bad nights sleep and repeat, repeat, repeat. 

Try not to lose them. Try to cherish it all. Because it's worth it when you get one. A perfect second of living.

Right now, I'm lost, unsure, that biting anxiety is sitting in my chest. I've no idea what I'm doing. I may be burnt out. I may just be having a bad week. I may just have to accept when you want something more, life is alway is a little bit harder. I may have to compromise. I may need to bend to the whole life thing. Give up. Make myself normal for a while. Accept the experiment failed. I am not more. I am just me. Little. Small. No one important. 

But then I think fuck it. Might as well keep fighting to find something that makes these tiny few seconds on the planet worth it. Because I'll be dead long enough and who wants to be normal anyway? 

Doing what you love...

I have to say I took to being back on the alcohol like a drowning woman gasping for air. Two massive weekends in a row and another one coming up. May need to do another six weeks off to recover from this month. But this is not about alcohol.

This is about people doing things they love.

Specifically music. I got to see my friend, who's been telling me about his music for two years, play last Friday night for the first time and it was amazing. There is just something magical in music and gigs, words and melodies. Something about the passion and dedication it takes to create something truly original. It's all yours, wouldn't have existed without you. And Dan is dedicated and talented. Plus, he's stopped me going back to retail more than once. That's friendship right there.

His passion for music saved me more than once when I was struggling to do everything; work full time, intern and write. He knew what he wanted and reminded me to keep fighting for what I did. I like being surrounded by people who are doing what they want from life. They're always so happy to be around; positive and sure of themselves. When I wasn't doing what I wanted, they were an inspiration. And it doesn't have to be something arts related, I'm lucky to be surrounded by so many; musicians, scientist, O.T., radiographer, midwife, writers, poets, businesswomen, teachers, media, retail... the list goes on. Although to anyone with no idea what you're doing, I love you guys too. I was one of you for the longest time. Try to find people who are happy in what they're doing. It is both wonderful and depressing. It helps while it hurts.

But! The music! Danny C and the Blond O Sonic Rape Alarms! Dave, Declan, Ste and Tom! They were brilliant. You'd never know the band had only been practicing together for four weeks before they got on stage.

Someone told me recently that they know I was a good writer (having never read anything I'd written) because when I talked about it I have a cocky but humble attitude. And that is exactly how I would describe Dan. When he talks about music, his passion for other peoples and for his own, you know he's going to be  good. You can hear it in the way he expresses himself, in that humble but cocky way he speaks. Friday night didn't live up to my expectations, it exceeded them in every way. He writes all the lyrics and music. He sings and plays guitar. And what a gorgeous guitar it is; a Gretsch electromatic. They played all original songs except a QOTSA cover.

And as Dan said "that's enough of the Karaoke."

Brilliant gigs, great music and definitely one to look forward to in the future! I tried uploading a video of the gig and failed miserably. So have a cover he did for the marriage referendum here.

(Not set up much on social media yet but you can follow him on twitter here @WikkaDan )

My glass is empty: Week five and six

I blended the last two weeks because I had nothing to say in week five. I know shocking; me with no words. I was just enjoying being sober and never hungover and having a bit of extra cash while quietly counting down to the end. 

And now, I'm done...six weeks, not a drop of alcohol. Not too shabby. 

My first drink

This was a weird few weeks. It was not even slightly what I expected. I didn't think I would spend it trying to figure out why I drink. I just thought it would be a slightly challenging thing to do, six weeks without alcohol. A bit like not talking to a good friend when they go travelling. Life continues but you feel the absence of them, that lonely space in your life they used to own. A space they fit back into so easily when they return, and trust me, it was easy. Friday night, exactly six weeks after I'd last gotten drunk, I was back in the whiskey bar drinking wine. Ah wine, my dear friend. It's good to see you again. 

When I decided to put this online, it was for accountability. I figured I needed people knowing so I wouldn't start again. And it worked because I would never have made it past week two. I mean I only started enjoyed it around week four. I definitely didn't think I would be putting so much of myself out there, little chunks of my thought process online for people to read and judge and joke about. It's been weirdly rewarding and wonderful (thanks to everyone for the support). Even my close friends have said it was like a chance to look in my brain and figure me out a bit more, understand the things I do. I'm not what you would call the most talkative when it comes to feelings and such. Someone recently referred to me as emotionally removed...harsh right?! But I know what they were trying to say. I am not the person to discuss the bad stuff, the really important stuff. That all stays inside and I use it to write the good stuff. You want to know how I deal with things, feel about things, how I think think; read my writing. Apparently there I'm an open book....hahaha.  

My first night out in pictures...we went out for a quiet drink, got home at six in the morning! It involved doing a poetry reading at Flying South (I may put my attempts at poetry up, probably not...) the whiskey bar, a nightclub, two Canadians, Eddie Rockets at five in the morning and up at nine for Foo Fighters. Worth the wait! One of the best drunk nights I've had in a long time. Still drinking felt weird, and I was a little drunk after two glasses...

    

If you know me well, you know I have to ask why about everything. It used to drive my old manager insane. 

"So this is the how we do the figures."

"But why do we do them that way? Is there a reason?"

"No, that's just how they're done."

"But why? There must be a reason for it." 

*Death stare* "I'll find out."

                                                                                                  

Why something is done a certain way, why you're supposed to do it, what the point is, the reasons behind it; I need to know, need to figure it out. I want to do things that mean something; being with a group of friends I've known forever, listening to a band whose music makes me feel something, working a job I care about. Life is so short, and sometimes so fucking cruel, that I have to know my actions and words meant something; added up to something worthwhile. I'm always, always searching for the bigger meaning, the bigger worth of my life. Which can be exhausting and frustrating but also crazy rewarding. And that's what happened with this; I was never going to just give up alcohol. I was going to have to figure out why and how and who and what and question and question until my brain melted out of my ear and I had figured nothing out. But at least I'm questioning, looking, investigating and always thinking. I need more and sometimes alcohol gives me that opportunity because it takes away the fear and sometimes it means I lose out because it dulls or skewers what I know. 

In conclusion, I've learned nothing and I've learned something. My brain is a hard place to live. 

I've no idea if I've a healthy relationship with alcohol. I think I have an Irish one and an interesting one and a complicated one. 

And that's gonna have to do for now. 

(The reason I'm doing this can be found here. Week one is here. Week two & three are here, Week four is here.)

My glass is empty: Week two & three

Apologies for missing my update in week two. My laptop decided to quit and I got to pay a whole bunch of money to get it fixed. This is what it looked like before I cracked the screen trying to push the loose connection back in. Then it became a creeping line of black blood which eventually engulfed the whole screen. Not at all scary when you've forgotten the last time you backed up your work*

*Reminder to self: back up your shit. 

But brief outline for week two: I didn't drink. 

I did try non-alcoholic beer. I was on a night out and was feeling weird and exposed with my non-drinking. It's odd how much I rely on alcohol to unwind, to make me feel just that little bit more comfortable even with people I know well and places I go a lot. Being sober is different in a place where you're usually drunk. You are so much more aware; of yourself, of others, of the music and the crowd. It's like a crutch you don't need but keep using out of habit. Once you realise you don't need it, you're fine. And yes, I am saying I'm like Watson. (Sherlock nerds will get that. Anyone who doesn't, why aren't you watching Sherlock? It's amazing.) 

I started off well with some tea. But when we got out I thought a fake beer was better than no beer. I felt a bit like this was cheating, but I'm making the rules right? The sugar hangover I had the next day confirmed it I was in fact a big fat cheater pants. You know there is 18 grams of sugar in one bottle of fake beer. I had two. 36 grams of sugar. I cannot confirm or deny which is worse; an actual hangover or a sugar one. They are both gross. Headachy and tired and crappy. So at dinner on Sunday, of course, I had another two. Just for research purposes. Plus I was missing drinking. There, I admit it. It's weird how much it comes up in my life, how left out I suddenly feel. 

Starting my night with a cup of tea. Responsible.

 Moved on to the alcohol free beer and the tiny wolf I called Murphy.

So I survived week two.  Week three was better-ish. I went to a gig of a friends band, Here To Help You Out, and they were amazing. They should play in The Bronze. That's how good they are. Also we need to set that up. Come on Buffy fans, you know I'm right. Go listen to their free EP. I'll wait...amazing right?! Anyway, I spent saturday wandering around town with the bestie doing random things like eating, shopping, looking and glancing. Yes, sounds boring but it was actually great. Especially the glancing. You can steal so much with a glance. Also bought a new notebook for the next story. It's so exciting when it is just a few crumpled ideas in your head forcing their way together into something coherent and alive.

I came to the conclusion throughout week three that I live a less exciting life than I thought. Apparently all I do is work and drink in the whiskey bar. Ah the lies we tell ourselves! I was sure I was social and outgoing and living some exciting adventures. Turns out, nope. I write, I edit, I intern, I drink a few drinks and I swim. I don't really DO anything. It's a nice existence. I don't deny it but I'm 27 not 87.

What do ppl with lives do?! Could someone let me know?! 

I'm a writer, or attempting to be one, so I spent a large portion of my time living in an imaginary world... it's nice there mostly...but it means I don't do much in the real world. When I look up from my laptop and see there's an actual world out there, I get very hyper. If you meet me after a long writing/editing session, I am at my most excitable and charming. Seriously, hang out with me then. I'm the best. Put alcohol into the mix, I'm charming and lovely. And believe me, I'll continue to tell you that fact. All evening.

But anyway, it turns out all I do is work. I mean, why wouldn't I? I've have this amazing opportunity to do what I actually want to do. Instead of working jobs I don't want but that pay me, I'm doing something I adore but has yet to, you know, make me any money. I remain hopeful. When you're given a chance like this, you don't waste it. You grab the damn thing in both hands and you fight until you get what you want. So, everything else has taken a sidebar; social life, men, adventures in the real world and general putting myself out there. Me a workaholic?! Who knew? Pretty sure my friends and family would have confirmed this sad realisation years ago. I need to invest in my social life, if not for my mental health than for my writing. I mean, drinking does not guarantee that you're interesting but if I run out of life experiences I won't have anything worthwhile to write. 

I think I might be boring. Some suggestions to cure this malady would great.

Alcohol has become a way to chill out, to unwind, but it is also a place to hide. Drink in the same bar with the same people and don't ever vary that routine. Because it's easy. And that is what was disappointing with the non-alcoholic beer, because that night, I went to the same bar followed by the same rock bar. Nothing is changing. Even without alcohol. Apparently, it's hard to take risks and throw yourself into life when you want to work as much as I do. Or maybe I'm making excuses, maybe I'm hiding. 

Because I went out into the world. I remembered how fucking awesome life is. And now, I don't want to lose that knowledge. I don't want to take risks, or do anything really, in case I break what I fixed. In case, I end up dark and twisty again. Even if some of my best writing comes from that place. But that's not good. One of my friends told me I keep saying I'm living vicariously through her. I totally am. And through my characters, other ppl stories, their words, songs and adventures. I sit, I observe, I enjoy. But I don't do. My work is quiet and done alone. It's cut me off from ppl, adventures, things, stuff, feelings. And for someone preaching about a big life, about taking risks and doing things; I'm sure as hell not delivering on the advice I'm doling out. 

I'm comfortable, complacent, happy. 

It's such a dangerous thing, happiness. You'll do anything to keep it. Sometimes that means doing nothing. But I only earned it by accepting the possibilities, being daring, doing things. Quitting my job, leaving my apartment, travelling and having faith in my writing. 

So, I'm ending this post with a nod to dark, twisty but risk taking Fran. 

I'm going to find a few new ventures, do some stupid things, create some stories, break a few hearts and figure out how to have a big life when you're not falling.  And I'll  do it all without my crutch, without the silliness that is alcohol.

(The reason I'm doing this can be found here.)
(Week one is here.)

My glass is empty: Week one

I'm sure you'll all be thrilled to know I survived the first week.

Not a drop of alcohol passed my lips.

Saintly, I know.

But let's be honest that's the easy week. It's barely an effort to give up alcohol for seven days. Especially since I stayed in on Saturday night and my Friday night was a non-alcoholic event (Flying South; everyone should go next month!). I did a reading, the first time I've read my stuff out loud for actual people. That was pretty awesome. And I did meet people in the whiskey bar beforehand. I ordered a cranberry juice. So there is that, a small victory. I was definitely taking baby steps, testing the water. Quite literally. Week two will have more interesting things. I'll do something exciting this week, well at least I'll try.

                 Liz has been nominated for "Devil of the Week" for trying to get me to drink on Sunday night. 

I was thinking about alcohol this week, about my relationship with it. I don't think I have a negative one per say but when you look at binge drinking stats it's clear I don't have a healthy one. To be honest, I doubt anyone I know does. It's surprisingly easy to join Binge Drinking Club.

Rule one: We don't talk about Binge Drinking Club.

Rule two: We always complain about our hangovers.

So, I figured I'd look at it in a way I could apply to my own drinking. Which was of course with wine. If a bottle of wine contains seven standard drinks (I would of said four but you know...) and women should only have eleven standard drinks a week....then how fast is the train travelling...sorry couldn't help myself...anyway...if you're not supposed to have these eleven drinks in one sitting, than if you do have a bottle of wine before you head out and a couple more in the bar, BAM, you're a binge drinker. I think that's probably a regular night for most of us. Binge drinking is defined as "six or more standard drinks in one sitting" so just finishing that bottle of wine alone makes you a binge drinker (http://www.yourdrinking.ie/about-alcohol/what-is-a-standard-drink/, 2015).

  Standard drinks measurements. 

                                           (www.yourdrinking.ie/about-alcohol/what-is-a-standard-drink/, 2015)

I'm starting to question my drinking history. I can finish two bottles easily and not give it a second thought. And yes, I am referencing my blog. Take that apparently wasted college education.

I love drinking; love the social aspect of it, love the giddy end of the day/week/semester/exam feeling you get with that first pint, catching up with your friends, making some new ones, the banter we all have. I love the easy acceptance we have in this country and how you're not judged for needing a pint at the end of a tough day. I don't love the fights, the messes, the vomiting or the abuse you see shopkeepers, bouncers, bar people, bus drivers, wait staff, basically anyone who is sober and working, gets. I don't like how alcohol helps some people regress to toddlers; throwing tantrums and fists when they don't get their way. I usually avoid town on a Saturday night. It doesn't feel safe. I'm a Monday to Thursday girl. Any of those evenings, I'm happy to be there, usually in the same bar having chats and a couple of drinks. But once the weekend arrives, it all gets a bit too real. The bad relationship becomes all too clear.

And I think alcohol is the excuse but it's not the reason. Oh the joy the bubbling recklessness of alcohol brings, the lack of inhibitions, all those silly rules holding you back. The things people do when they're drunk are the things they want to do when they are sober but aren't brave enough. You want to text that guy, kiss the girl, tell your secrets, and other ridiculous, reckless things. Alcohol gives you the freedom, the possibility to do all these stupid things you can't do because of responsibility and obligations and what you should be doing. It's the get out of jail free card, the alter ego that made you do it. And it's the apology you barely need to explain, the "Sorry, I was drunk" excuse that can be easily forgiven.

I know last year that's what I used it for. The chance to do whatever the hell I wanted. Text that guy again, stay up all night even though I had work the next day, the chance to feel alive when I was sinking...and that's when it gets dangerous; that's when you know you're in trouble.

Life is so much more than those reckless nights and messy mornings.

It's more than gossip and drama.

It has to be.

(Some cool links I found if you want to figure out how much you're actually drinking: http://drinkhelp.ie/alcohol-and-you/how-much-am-i-drinking/calculator/ (I worked out my last night, the one that sent me on this little journey, and apparently I drank 14 standard drinks and 1330 calories of alcohol that night. Holy hell. Also I'm pretty certain I left out a few drinks I couldn't remember.) http://www.drinkaware.ie/know-your-drinking/drinks-diary/)

Also the reason I'm doing this can be found here.
Week two & three are here.

We're tourists Amy but we're people too.

Lisbon is hot and sunny. I'm certain I already have a tan, if you look at me with one eye closed and the other squinting while in bad lighting. Yes, definitely a bit darker. The view from my window is sunlight warming red terracotta tiles and water. Life has improved immeasurably since this time last week. I was pulling yet another sale and trying to fill walls. I'm waiting to miss it...that's a lie. I'll never miss it. The people yes, the work?! Never, not even a little bit.

Freedom is nice.