Tuesday, November 23, 2010
As I swivel my life away in an office chair awaiting training in something I will never use, amidst dramatic sighs, and soft silent wails, I like to consider the level of dialogue which swivels simultaneously within my cranium. I'm at an impasse, you see. An impasse of being idle, yet receiving monetary embellishments for this lack of activity. UNTIL THE END OF THE YEAR. When they uttered this extended temporary fact to me, of course!, I should have rejoiced! Hurrrrrah!!! FREE MONEY YOU SAAAAY! Free money to sit in a swivel chair and gaze at a computer screen and learn about things through witty links on twitter, and watch Samantha Ronson turn the girls ghey, and eventually read newspapers when the witticism and the gateway lesbianism-ism becomes tiresome.
As I was writing this initial self indulgent paragraph, (primarily as a method to make the time pass via public moaning, of course) a 21 year old Romanian woman, who cleans the offices here at my temp job, was asking me if I had any children or a husband (she has two - children, not husbands - only one of those), she was then talking to me about the fact that she is the only one in her family who has a job. I'm here. WRITING A BLOG. Getting paid to become frustrated and have an existential crisis, and she's hoovering around my self indulgent feet.
I've been most pensive since I became "aware"/read as; "started up a twitter account". The addition of reading the newspaper, particularly at a crucially volatile point within Irish politics and economics is that I've realised I'm a spa. ("Finally," I hear Samantha Ronson tweet.)
Now many of my closest humans have often told me this. MANY. REPEATEDLY. And this new clarity, awareness, and time wasting drivel i'm typa-typa-typing is proving them quite right. I've always had a sense of the greater good for myself you see, inside this ROUNDY young lady lies all the cliches of one Leona Lewis (minus the talent of course, and perhaps with a more colourful use of language - soz Leona). Many pipe dreams I have, horrendously embarrassing pipe dreams, never really involving the impending training on Oracle (an accountancy programme) through which i am now living... I've always expected more for myself. Even though I barely have the stamina to fully commit to the book Freakonomics in favour of the trashy erotical delights of one Immodesty Blaize's second book "AMBITION", (oh baby...), and yet here I am, 7 years an artist, 5 years an administrator(soon to be adept in accounts, BABES), 1 year a cabaret performer, 1 win at a sean-nós festival under my diaphragm (I was 9 and, at that point, had never smoked...) and never having championed myself as a human bean bearing a political opinion. However, perhaps, with all of these *cough* astouuuundiiiiing achievements under mine diaphragm, if i had been more committed to training into things like Oracle, and maintaining a job, which paid me, I'd possess NOT ONLY no debt, but also, perhaps, independence to the degree of not living with ME MA. Much as I covet the earth for bestowing me with the most wonderful woman in the whole universe as my mother, I feel, at 27, somewhat ashamed to be living at home.
I blame the pipe dreams (what does that even meeeeean! - A pipe dream is a fantastic hope or plan that is generally regarded as being nearly impossible to achieve, originating in the 19th century as an allusion to the dreams experienced by smokers of opium pipes. - oooh, thank you Google!) So, essentially, I need to give up the opium and become comfortable with being miserable in order to obtain possessions such as a home, and perhaps a kitten, maybe some self respect too, so that I stop blogging.