An frivolous update

Not unlike the 'lucozade' ad, I think I've 'found my rhythm'. Yes, that ad lulls me into an 'I can do anything' trance, but it also speaks truth in volumes. I work two days a week now, and yes, sometimes one of my employers cancels on me for one reason or another, but at least I have something to schedule my week around. When I was in my teens and early twenties, it was the weekly family meal, and now that I can't see my family (due to various barring orders), and they can't visit me (no one's allowed visit me in the hostel) I turn to my work as a pivotal point in my week. As I whizz around Tuesday's luxurious apartment, cleaning every available surface, sometimes I reward myself by parking my big arse on the sofa, lying down, and having a little snooze. I somehow manage to convince myself that this is my own apartment, I'm not sure how I do it, but it's a little mind game I play on myself. While I'm hoovering, I pull a bit of a Julie Andrews, hopping and skipping around the various rooms like a ballerina, humming and singing, swirling and gliding. For that few hours I'm not a starving homeless artist; I'm the wife of some high flying solicitor, who's borderline obsessed with cleaning. I resent the fact that once the bins have been flung into the dustbin, I have to drag my arse back to a tiny cubicle, with an orange speckled linoleum floor, a piss colored wall (covered with what looks like piss stains...making it doubely pissey) and a window which may as well have been scraped out of the wall with a desert spoon (it's so disproportionate in comparison to the room itself). Usually, it's time to eat once I arrive back home, and after scoping my room out (for the five billionth time, each time hoping it will have somehow changed) I usually decide against food, since my environment doesn't exactly excite my appetite (or proper digestion for that matter). I usually just make a beeline for my bed and sleep (for lack of a preference).

All's not lost however, yes I do opt for falling into a state of unconsciousness, over actually keeping my eyes open in my room, but my days do currently lend themselves to at least one 'out-of-pissey-room' experience. The extra income I make feeds itself into activities such as: going to the gym, attending a monthly art class, and y'know being able to afford anything in Dublin (it may aswell be an activity in and of itself). I've run out of money at the end of the week on more than one occasion due to buying eleven 1.25 chocolate chip dairy milks, so the extra income does come in handy one way or another. What with my extra income and the commencement of lent, my piggy bank is having a right feast.

isn't this picture glorious? That pig is almost as fat as my mom's boyfriend, also not entirely dissimilar in personality

In other news, it is Saturday night, and I spent the entire day doing the following: sleeping (until five), waking up with a rumbling tummy, realized it was lent and I couldn't wolf a dairy milk down my pelican gullet, so I poured boiling water over some ravioli, drained it, ate it with ketchup, almost threw up, went back to bed for a further hour, tenaciously asked my tarot cards questions and prayed for enlightenment (it only served to cement the fact in my mind that I have no friends, and need a life), I then called the reception area (instead of walking down stairs and talking face-to-face) telling them that I wanted a wake up call the following morning, I then attempted to watch the remainder of the great gatsby in the living area with 'Dozy Dave' nodding off in the corner. It's now 1am and I'm writing this blog. I'd like to post a mid-writing selfie, but I don't think I will, I'm telling you what I'm doing, and I'm sure imaging it is fairly easy. I took a break there, and started watching Coldplay's new video. That's probably one of the only perks of living here...there must be 512 channels on this telly, including MTV, MTV Classic, and VH1, which just play music 24/7. I used to abuse the fact that I had access to so much 'fresh, new music'...but then I'd start to dance...and eyebrows would raise. I think it's easier to play it on the safe side, and stick to documentaries and soaps. Ugh, I just got a flashback of that time I hiked my joggers up to that area right under my boobs, and shook my booty thinking I was so funny. I mean, people were laughing, but their laughter soon turned sour once they realised I was mad as a march hare, and probably needed psychiatric help.



That's all for now!

I'll keep you all posted!