The American President...

My mam always says if she could go back to being 25, she would move to Washington DC and work in The White House. She has followed American politics for as long as I remember. She worked in the Taoiseach's office. She still fights for people who cannot fight for themselves, writing letters to all members of the Dail and holding meeting with the opposition and the government. Politics have an important place in our house, Irish and foreign. The ideas we discuss over the breakfast table have changed how I view the world. My mother is a woman who truly believes that the power is in the people's hands. If I am angry or frustrated, she tells me to write a letter, to use my voice, to make something happen.

Politics has shaped me. Just like America has. I've watched so many TV shows, so many terrible movies. I've read their books, listened to their music, been influenced and helped along by American pop culture, by their ideals, by the very idea that they are always fighting to be better.

Unless you're an immigrant or an African-American or disabled or LGBT 
or a women or you know not, white, straight and christian. 

I am proud to be Irish. There is an implicit cool factor in it. I have travelled the world and have yet to meet a person who does not react with some form of joy when I tell them where I'm from. It is a massive part of my identity. I am also proud to have spent a year in New Zealand. I would go back in a heartbeat. It is beautiful. I have only spent two months travelling around America but have been influenced by it my whole life. Places you live, you have travelled, you learn from, they shape who you are. Sometimes in ways you don't even realise.

America made themselves the moral high ground of the world. They chose that path. They fought for it. They are The United States of America, with their Statue of Liberty and their "give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, The wretched refuse of your teeming shore." They told us they embodied freedom and liberty and equality and solidarity and peace and humanity. They had so many people, so many nationalities, all who came to them through hard paths or easy, but all to live in their free land.

America is the reality TV star that welcomed us into every aspect of their life, that demanded access to ours, and then got annoyed when it turned out they had some pretty hideous skeletons in their closet and we wouldn't turn around. We wouldn't let them hide. I watched this election with anger and pain and hurt. I hated every moment of it. I never knew how much America meant to me until I watched it tear itself apart.

He can't actually believe the total
crap he is preaching, right?

I have a pain in my belly I am so angry. I just watched Reince Priebus explain away everything that has been expressed in this horror show of an election because of what Trump said in his victory speech "I pledge to every citizen of our land that I will be a president to all Americans." I guess it's time to forget the sixteen months of angry rhetoric. No apology has been issued for all the damage and hurt he has created. We must forget Trump has legitimised hate and bigotry and sexism and racism and xenophobia. We must move on and not pay attention to the reports coming from across the United States of an increase in racism and sexism and hateful words and actual attacks and fear within disability rights advocacy groups and the spike in calls to suicide hotlines within the LGBT community because the Vice President-elect Mike Pence believes in conversion therapy among OTHER things and will be helping shape Trump's policies. We mustn't react to the fact he has put a white supremacist as his chief strategist or that people are throwing racial slurs at Michelle Obama. We mustn't remember that Trump has no political experience, and has had rape charges brought against him, among other court cases, and THAT video and the tweeting and all the rest of the Trump-ness. We mustn't focus on him trying to squash protests with a tweet and then having to backtrack twelve hours later because, hi, free country, remember?

Why don't you like me?!?!? Gawd! Protests across fifteen cities doesn't seem small. 

Now that Trump is President-Elect, we're being told that we must forget he played demagogue for the past year and a half. Americans must now get behind him and come together and forget the KKK endorsed him and he is skeptical of climate change and also, hey, has the codes to nuclear weapons. Don't worry! He was only playing at being being a terrible person! He's actually a great guy!

When you legitimise hate, both in United Kingdom and now in America, when you belittle, dehumanise and preach it from a place of authority, you make the whole world a worse place. You teach children they are worth more or less because of the color of their skin, or the person they are attracted to, or their gender. You give bigots and racists and misogynists and hate filled little people the idea that they are right, that their ideas aren't archaic and wrong. You tell them they are better than others because they fit a mould that humanity has outgrown. We have outgrown you. We are better for it. Don't you forget it. This is your last hurrah. Your victory has dragged us from our complacency. We will not allow this to happen again.

People have been telling me I must allow these people to speak because that is what freedom of speech means. But. But. But. Here's the thing, freedom of speech comes with a hell of a lot of responsibility. Yes, you can say what you want. Of course. But you must realise that right comes with consequences. You can say what you want, but, you can't get away with it. The outcome to your actions, your words, your hate, include such things as; Unfriending. Arguments. Debates. Protests. Boycotts. Investigations. Prison.

free speech

1. the right to express any opinions without censorship or restraint
2. 
   

Hate speech

     Speech that offends, threatens, or insults groups, based on race, color, religion, national origin, sexual orientation, disability, or other traits.

I'm not American. I have my own crappy politicians to deal with, but, when you hold yourself up as the shining light of civilisation, when you tell the world again and again and again how you are the beacon of free society, then you don't get to hide.
America, the world is watching and we are afraid.
America, the world is watching and we are angry.
America, the world is watching and we expected so much more.


                      

There are things we must do now. We must no longer be indifferent. We must make the people who run our countries accountable. We must fight for what we believe is right. We must have the tough conversations and protest when we need to get our voices heard. No more lazy retweeting. No more backseat activism. To create any change is difficult but now is the time to learn and to fight. This cynicism and sarcasm and wit and banter and craic we've all been living with, we need to put it away. Not forever. Not for all things. Maybe, though, it is time we got some notions. Maybe it is time we decided that Ireland will be a small beacon of hope in all the grey.

The Irish are loved worldwide. We are the best craic, the most welcoming, the friendliest, the cool kids at the party. Remember the Euros. We were voted the best fans. They turned the Eiffel Tower green, white and orange. We were voted the best fans during the Rugby World Cup in 2011 as well. That is just one small measure of the power we hold just by being kind, welcoming, respectful people.

Let us bring all that goodwill home. Let us be better to each other. Let us start there and see if we can take a step forward after all the hate of 2016. We have a reputation throughout the world. Why not use that influence for good? Why not try better? Why not take a stand?

I know I am going to try.
Because the cynicism is getting me nowhere.
It is getting none of us anywhere.

On the worst day of the year...

Today is the worst day of the year. Did you know that?

Saying that though, you might have your own worst day. Mine was created on September 2nd 2003 at 6.59pm (ish). Most people have their own date and their own time and their own person.

There is the before and the after.

The knowing what death is and the actual experience of it.

There is losing people and the knowledge a full stop can be applied to a person.

There is no meaning to it. No great lesson to be learned. It just is. I get through today, endure the sadness and pointlessness and bigness, and then, I go back to my after life. Even writing this, there is no reason. The words wanted out and so I let them out. Even though I rarely talk about it. Even though the thought of sharing this makes me feel sick.

Thirteen years. Am I working that out right? I used to keep track so precisely, and then, the time didn't seem as important as the loss. There are so many things she is missing. So many things we are missing. And like scar tissue that won't quite heal, like a phantom limb that won't stop itching, like a heart that won't fully go back together, she is always there. Always with us.

Not that I wouldn't want her to be. Not that I ever want her to fade. But shock passes. Pain eases. Horrible things become reality become life become the way things are. Sometimes I wish I could go back to being that much in pain, to really feel the loss, not as this dull ache, but as the crystalised cut ratcheting through my chest and family and life. Just to know it was real. I'm sorry there is no meaning here, no grand life lesson about appreciating what you have because in a phone call, a bad turn, a wasted second, it could all be destroyed (it can) but sometimes people aren't lessons.
Sometimes they are just missed.
And today I miss my sister.
And today I miss all the things she didn't get to do.
And today I miss all the things she never saw me do.
Today is a day for missing.
Tomorrow, well, who knows what tomorrow is going to give?

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? 

Men, you need to ask...

“I am over the passivity of good men. Where the hell are you? You live with us, make love with us, father us, befriend us, brother us, get nurtured and mothered and eternally supported by us, so why aren’t you standing with us? Why aren’t you driven to the point of madness and action by the humiliation of us?” Eve Ensler (stolen from Louise O'Neill's article in the irish examiner, link below) 

My blog on Tuesday night was in reaction to anger and exhaustion and frustration and pain. It was my experiences. And as I said to a friend on Wednesday morning, I consider myself one of the lucky ones. The stories I remember can be counted on two hands. I'm sure there are way more instances that I've chosen not to hold on to. But so many women have so many more that are so much worse. I've heard too many stories about street harassment, bar harassment, workplace harassment, general mind numbing, heart stopping, fear mongering harassment. Times where friends laughed off late night, drunk night, forgotten night experiences because they knew in their gut something was wrong and they didn't want to look too closely. Because examining it is scary. Especially when you know there will be no help, no support, just the look that says, well, it's kinda your fault, isn't it?

We've all recieved those looks. 

We need to dismantle this culture, this horrible fog hanging over our society. Because, you know what, when you live in a fog and you can't see the damage it's doing, why in hell's name would you leave? It's safe there. I've asked male friends if they have to think of their safety all the time; do they worry about walking home alone, do they use their keys as weapons, held between fingers just in case (of course, by the time someone gets that closed, it's already too late), is their music turned low so they can hear creeping footsteps (if they are willing to listen to music at all. Were you wearing earphones when you were attacked? What did you expect then?), do they worry about drinking too much and being taken advantage of (Well, it's your fault, you were drinking. Where is your sense of personal safety?), do they get that moment of panic when they wake and realise their friend didn't txt to say they got home safe?

Think about it for a second, oh male readers, do you?

Do you worry about your safety at least once a day?

Most of the answers I've recieved are no. Along with a looks of confusion and you're obviously joking/exaggerating/crazy/safety obsessed.... etc.... Because no one actually lives that way.

Except this, and much more, is the life that most of my female friends live.

Every damn day. 

Many articles have been written this week articulating this brilliantly. Here are some links I would love you to take the time and read. Some make me so angry, I feel like it's burning a hole through my stomach. The rest make me proud or scared or glad people are better at saying what I can't seem to: 

The Letter The Stanford Survivor Read Aloud To Her Attacker
‘20 minutes of action’: father defends Stanford student son convicted of sexual assault
Men See Themselves In Brock Turner—That’s Why They Don’t Condemn Him

Brock Turner's statement blames sexual assault on Stanford ‘party culture’
Ambient Fear, Feminism & Bruce Banner

Schrödinger’s Rapist: or a guy’s guide to approaching strange women without being maced
Verbal abuse of women in public
I hope it's helpful, even if it's a bit clunky
Why must we get angry and sad just so Brock Turner will understand rape?

To Brock Turner’s Father, From Another Father
It’s incredibly disturbing how we have learned to internalise sexist behaviour and blame ourselves
Let’s Talk About Rape, Man to Man

Brock Turner case shows how men are not listening to women

Men, have a conversation with the women in your life.

We're already talking. We're swapping stories but they're tales we already know. We need you to know them. We need you to listen. And then, when you understand how we live, we need you to tell your male friends. Let's get a conversation going. Ask questions. Disagree with us. Question us. But stay open-minded. Accept we are telling the truth. We are not exaggerating. Trust us. I am surrounded by so many amazing, open minded, wonderful men. But even they were shocked. Even they didn't know.
                                             
Let's all talk.

Let's lift the fog and light the way. 

                                                     ***********

If you want to know what caused this, my original post is here. 

                                                                                                        

Oh I'm just a girl, lucky me...

*Warning: This is an angry, rage filled, fire burning, pissed off post.*

This and this and this and all of this has hit me right on my cynical, no-longer-affected-so-much-because-I've-seen-it-all-before head. Hopefully at this point everyone has read the letter the Stanford victim so eloquently composed. If you haven't, it's the first link... Off you go, I'll wait... Back? Grand. So now you understand my anger. I assume you too are feeling the frustrations at the injustice of it all but maybe you're thinking, hey, that's America. Ireland is grand. Well, my dear, let me give you some examples from my own life.

I'm fifteen and walking through a park. It is bright. A teen male on a bike circles me three or four times before jerking off behind me while following me. I run. I laugh it off. Others laugh it off. We talk about stupid men. I tell very few people. 

I am scared.

I am sixteen and walking through town, chatting with friends and a man punches me in the face for no reason but I am... too loud? too happy? too comfortable? ...Seriously, I've no fucking clue. 

I am confused.

I am eighteen and walking home alone from the pub. At the top of my road a man starts following me and trying to engage me in conversation. I ignore him. Eventually he starts playing with my hair and telling me how pretty I am. I run. I tell very few people. 

I am unsafe.

Multiple occasions throughout my twenties of being felt up in clubs, being told it's a compliment, calm down it was just a joke, having my wrist held so hard it hurt, having to tell my friends to txt me anytime I left them alone in a taxi, not wanting to be alone in a taxi if I was sitting up front (which I always was because, hi, tall). I have a boyfriend being the only way I'm left alone because my no means nothing, but once I am another man's, suddenly I will be left alone. 

I am frustrated.

I am twenty six. An old man who has been following me around the bar all night approaches me to tell me how pretty I am and how he knows someone who would pay me a €100 euro to takes pictures up my skirt. I tell him how horrible he is and ask him why he thinks he can talk to me like that. He tells me it's a compliment. 

I am disgusted.

I am twenty seven and have just left friends to get a Nightlink. A man I have rebuffed FOUR times throughout the night, both in Globe and at the burger place after, follows me down the road because he wants to have a conversation with me. I explain very politely that I accept he doesn't understand how much of a threat he seems to me right now but I do not want to talk to him. I want him to leave me alone (this is a great article for anyone confused as to why this would be a threat- sure, he just wanted a chat, right?). He does not, following me into Temple Bar, which for the first time ever on a Saturday night is empty. I call my male friend, explain to him what is happening, make it very clear to this man that I feel threatened and am on the phone to my "boyfriend." He finally leaves. 

I am angry. 

Last week, I was walking through town with people I work with and a group of males in a car scream slut at us as we walk past. Because of the traffic lights, we have to pass them twice more. They scream slut twice more and laugh about how hilarious it all is. 

I am tired.

I stand alone at a bus stop and feel uncomfortable at cat calls and beeps. I get a fright. I get confused. Feel self-conscious. Wonder if the outfit I felt so good in when I left my house is going to be worth all the stares and gropes and "compliments" I am going to spend the evening getting. How I'm going to have to pretend my male friends are my boyfriend because my NO isn't valid without male approval. Fuck everyone I've ever had to do that to. Seriously, fuck you. 

I sit with friends who share the same stories. I walk down the street and discuss the shit woman have to put up with. We all have these stories. Every single one of us. Talk to the women in your life. Compare stories. Men ask. Just fucking ask. I told a male friend some of these yesterday and he went from laughing to confusion to horror to disgust. I tell women and they smile knowingly. They counter with their own. What a lovely way to bond. It's 2016. 

I am fucking tired of this. 

Today, I am so fucking angry. I had managed to move past all this rage to the comforting area of cynicism, to a world weary nod and a tired shrug. I couldn't keep fighting it so I moved onto easier topics. Abortions and such. It's got to tell you how bad it is when abortion is the easy fight. In Ireland ffs. 

I am too loud, too questioning, too political, too passionate, just too much. So, in the last while, I have smoothed out my edges. I have become easier to swallow. I have ignored jokes that make my skin crawl, laughed at my own crazy feminist ranting because hi, don't be so opinionated, we're just having banter. Fucking banter. 

I'm tired and I'm done. Fuck staying quiet, I am all about screaming it out. 

Anxiety to Adventures...

"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." -11/05/15

It's been just over a year since I wrote those words, and boy, was I right. Happiness is like sand through your fingers; no matter how hard you try to hold on to it tiny grains will slip away. And if you're not careful, if you don't refill the sand every few days, weeks, months, it'll all just disappear. I did take my own advice. I went out. I lived. The only problem was I forgot to refill the sand and now it's gone. I gave it away to others I thought needed it more, I fought too hard for things that were never mine to begin with and I broke myself again and again and again for, at the end of it all, absolutely nothing. Nothing. Not a damn thing.

The last year has not been easy.

But, fuck it. I am here now and I am never one to wallow for long. The anxiety has faded, the pain is easing and the counselling is a godsend. Seriously, why did I hold out on that for so long? It is freaking awesome. Hello, trained professional, please help figure out why I'm caught in a never ending pattern of terrible decisions, worse men and self fulfilling prophecies. Oh, because of my inability to form boundaries...

*Starts building a wall Donald Trump would be proud of*

Last year, I set myself a six week challenge of no alcohol. This year it's a little bit different. This year, I just want to be happy again. I want to remember why I love being alive so much. Because, holy goddess, I love the adventures and the excitement and people and music and books and EVERYTHING. It is so ridiculously wonderful the unlimited possibility of joy around us and I want it back. So I have set myself a challenge, and with a challenge, comes accountability.... And with great power comes great responsibility... Sorry couldn't help myself...

This blog, yet again, is my accountability. The name of the game is adventure. It is saying yes.

(Press play now) 

Right now, I finally feel like I'm ready to start over again with all the nice things life has to offer. Fun and sun and pretty things. I want smiles and laughter and hugs and sweets. Comic books and movies and sunbathing and beaches. Trips to the zoo and city breaks and seeing friends and eating good food. Dancing and gigs and terrible puns and drinking in the sunshine.

So my list so far:
Trim Castle
Acapella Group
Forbidden Fruit
Amsterdam- Best Kept Secret Festival
Edinburgh (Harry Potter tour and other touristy things.)
IMMA Summer Party
Edinburgh (for a literary festival this time)
Galway
Kerry
Newcastle
(also get a tan but that is an ongoing struggle)

Feel free to send me some ideas. Join me. You're all invited. Invite me places. I'll say yes.

If you want live updates follow me on Instagram where I put up pictures way more than is healthy. Also I have a twitter but I'm not great at the whole updating of that. I'll try harder though, I promise.

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 four

Holy crap, I've made it to week four. I don't want to claim that its miraculous, but lets be honest, it's a little bit impressive. I mean I do spent a large amount of my time in bars, surrounded by alcohol and drinking people. I never realised how much of my social life is based in pubs and other alcohol related events. I have no shame saying (well, maybe a little) that I miss it; the end of the week first sip, the going a bit mad tonight drink, the let's meet up for chats wine.

There was an actual miracle this week; I actually enjoyed not drinking!

Yes, I know. I have reached sainthood. The pope will be ringing anytime now to condemn me to Hell...but that will be for all the other things I regularly do. Anyway, two nights out, a trip to the whiskey bar and a house party, and both were brilliant without a drop of alcohol. The best part was on Saturday and Sunday I was up early, not hungover, and got to spent my days doing things (writing group, Pitch Perfect 2, finishing a bunch of work and seeing friends). It felt like I did something over the weekend instead of just drinking and recovering.

I've been discussing alcohol with people. I now do that a lot while I try to figure out why it's been such a big thing for me to give it up for six weeks. The support I've received for giving up has been amazing by the way; loads of people have gotten in contact or mentioned it to me which has been so freaking cool. I just wonder why it's considered such a big deal (including by me), why it is so hard. Because it has been hard, weird, a struggle and an adjustment. Not drinking is odd. I'm starting to think it's a big part of my identity as an Irish person. I know I don't need to go into any facts or figures for us all to know that drinking is a massive part of Irish culture.

←Younger me drinking all the beer

I've been drinking consistently since I was seventeen (gave it up for six months in second year of college) but ignoring that, I've been drinking for basically ten years straight. We won't mention earlier attempts (sorry Mam!). Ten years of most weekends, a lot of weekdays, house parties, nights out, nights in...all revolving around alcohol. So if it takes 66 days to form a habit, I think I'm pretty set in my ways. Something like 90% of my facebook pictures (I made that up) are me drinking or on nights out. This is what I do. I socialise with drinks. This is probably what we all do. Sitting in to watch a movie, have  a few beers. Heading out, have more than a few beers. Dinner, have a drink. Sometimes even the cinema equals more alcohol. Holy hell Ireland, we really do know how to drink.

I also drink a lot of tea in case you're wondering→

I just don't know how I didn't notice this before, didn't really think about it. And let's be honest I'll probably go back to normal when the six weeks is done. Ten years of habit ain't gonna be broken in six weeks. But a little part of me doesn't want to go back. I'm enjoying it. Weird, I know. It's nice to remember what I did on a night out, to wake up and not be hungover, to never wonder if I need to be embarrassed, or have that sinking feeling of dread, the shit-I-fucked-up moment. But here's the problem, part of me adores being out of control. Adores the feeling of letting it all out and then blaming the alcohol, dancing and drinking and kissing inappropriate men and being a big mess and just having that sort of uninhibited fun. It's a different level, something you just can't reach when you're sober. Sober Fran and Drunk Fran are currently not speaking, one wants to stay and the other wants to come back. I'm not sure which one I want to be. Because I think it's like I said in my first post; it all starts off healthy and balanced, but you always slip back into the mess. Mostly, because It Is Fun, So Freaking Fun.

So, going into week five and I have no idea if I'm going to go back to drinking or if I'm going to try stay sober at the end of all this. I miss drinking. But also I don't. The weirdness is over too, it would be easy now to stay off it. Everyone knows.

All I know is I feel good, like really good. Better than if I'd been drinking for the last few weeks.

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