Must write something

This entry’s theme tune is “Climbatize” by Prodigy. I had a huge Prodigy thing in the mid-90’s, I know anyone’s who’s met me is spitting out their cornflakes at that but there yar. I really liked them til they……well they made it difficult to like a band that hasn’t released anything in five years. The border business in the last entry was all leading to the bit where I talk about my madcap scheme to go to Newry on Saturday and buy a new phone. Norn Iron has a much better selection of phones, and all you have to do is buy a pre-paid phone, walk into this other shop and get it unlocked for £15 stg. and shtick your Irish SIM in. It means I can get a sexy new Nokia 5210 for €265, a phone that’s rare here and only available as a bill phone on O2. Yes, I know, 265 yo-yos is a serious amount of dosh to whip out for a new cellular telephonic device. But you don’t understand! It has a thermometer!!! And if I wanted to, I could even stretch to a Samsung A300, which has a flip. Honestly, that could clinch it for me. And yes, I’m weird and I have WAY too much money.

Incidentally can I take this opportunity to just say:

“Sony J6 for sale, (no) genuine reason for sale, €50 or nearest offer, complete with leather case (unused), charger, car charger, hands-free and €6 credit. 01 area only please.”

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Of course there’s something wrong. I usually buy things I don’t need when there’s something wrong. I’ll tell you what it is. I feel like a looted shop window, like I’ve been smashed open and emptied. I feel like I’ve got no friends, no-one cares and I freak out every time I close my eyes. I desparately want this not-going-to-college phase of my life to work, this is what I want. And yet I find I can’t keep in contact with anyone. It’s my own fault, I know. I just feel so empty. I feel like I’m missing something huge. That feeling you get as the bus pulls off and you realise your wallet is still on the seat. Except I don’t know what I’ve lost. All I know is it’s gone.

I can’t make things happen anymore, my weird premonition thing is gone. I don’t know what’s going on, I pretend I do. I have no-one to turn to. I texted Aoife a month ago when I was having another little bout of sadness and she told me she didn’t want to meet or even text, “couldn’t we leave it at Christmas drinks?” Because “she’s going through some shit”. Well I’m going through some fucking shit! I’m off the rails, tumbling down the hillside. Not that I was that much on the rails but I was almost on a track. And I left that because I wanted something new. I wanted so much to leave college, be happy and one night come home from work and tell Mam how much happier I am. I said to myself I’d tell her a month after I left college. But I haven’t done it yet.

And then there’s Elaine. What ever happened to her? The girl who was apparently one of my closest friends, if not thee closest friend, in college has simply stopped talking to me. No texts, no calls, no mails, nothing. I sent her a good few texts, she never replied and that was it. I think it might stem back to March, when Elaine, her friend Sinead and me went to this information night about working in Australia for a year. They didn’t think I’d seriously go but as I became more serious, the looks of horror on their faces became very clear. They were all for me going when the chances were remote. But when I started thinking out loud about how to get the money, they got worried. And now I think Elaine’s avoiding me in case we’re still friendly in September, when she wants to go. I don’t want to go anymore; I never mentioned it here because I was afraid I’d jinx it. Maybe I’ll go on my own. And maybe the Pope will duet with Eminem on the roof of Buckingham Palace.

There’s so many things I want to write about. This girl in work, Orla, is great craic. She’s like The Artist Formerly Known Here As “Mate” only without all that baggage. I haven’t had drinkin buddy friends in work for over a year, I’ve just gone in and done the job. But now I’m actually going out after work with my team (I know, I know, that’s actually what we’re called though) and will be doing that again tomorrow evening. They’re all girls, which means I get on well with them. I get on much better with girls. Have I ever mentioned that before? I’ve never had close male friends so maybe I’m being a bit pre-emptive, but generally I find myself surrounded by wimmin. Not that I’d have a chance with them, but it’s nice to be surrounded by girls. Girls are nice to look at, and who doesn’t want a bit of eye candy now and then?

And they’ve got lovely personalities as well, blah, blah, blah…….

JayeL’s Two Cents Now That It’s All Calmed Down A Bit:

Roy Keane should never have been sent home, Mick McCarthy has let personal feelings get in the way of his job, which is to manage the Republic of Ireland team. No, he shouldn’t have got the abuse off Roy Keane that he got. But passions were running high and if every club fired their best player because he gave out about stuff, the Premier League would be about as exciting and entertaining as Big Brother with mushrooms for contestants (which admittedly isn’t far from the truth). With talent comes a weakness. Bill Clinton was an incredibly intelligent president with a weakness for interns doing things to themselves with cigars. David Beckham is a hugely talented player who wears his wife’s clothes. Remember Eric Cantona? The fantastic Frenchman who couldn’t take stick from the crowd and jumped into the face of a Crystal Palace supporter (“when the shit hit the fan”)? He was a great player too, a great player with a ferocious temper. Just like Roy Keane. And let’s face it, Roy Keane is one of the five best players in the world. Ireland is far from the top five teams in the world. We can’t really be sending home players like Roy Keane unless he did something terrible, like shag a goat or something.

So what we’ve got to ask ourselves as a country is; did Roy Keane shag a goat?

j