I’ve sent four texts since 10pm last night and so far nobody has replied. I feel very unloved. So much so, that I just texted myself to see if my phone was broken. But no – much to my dismay, my phone shrilled out it’s annoying/wonderful (depending on your viewpoint) Catchphrase message tone and confirmed that I am simply just unloved.
And most likely a very sadcase.
Text me back Goddammit!
Ah Monday, why can’t you realise it’s the summer (apparently) and disappear off to the Canaries for a few weeks? Why must you ruin my Sundays with your impending doom?
I am shattered already. And I really don’t know how. I spent most of Saturday glued to the couch under a fluffy duvet watching the repeat of Shipwrecked and not having a notion of what I was watching. Later that evening, I swapped couches to my friends abode to watch some random Vegas ‘movie’ and again not have a notion of what I was watching. Anyone heard of Vegas Baby? My God, has to be the worst movie – EVAR. Or at least on the shortlist.
On Sunday, I was feeling slightly more adventurous and had very good intentions of visiting both the Street Performers World Championships and the Taste of Dublin in the Iveagh Gardens. Unfortunately, the hunger got to me and I only made it as far as Wagamamas before devouring a plate of Chicken Chili Men and topping it off with a whiskey sour in the Porterhouse. Unusually for me, I managed to catch the last bus home where the sweetest thing happened, of which I will blog about later when I have access to the camera.
All in all, I was pure lazy and now I’m whacked as a result. Pass me the red bull cola please.
It may be Wednesday but I’m still going to blog about the weekend because for me, it kind of only ended yesterday.
On Friday, I turned the grand old age of vingt-cinq and went to Tralee with the gang to
drown my sorrows celebrate. We spent the first night in watching divids, playing poker and generally making fools of ourselves. I suck at poker by the way (except when I’m sober, then I’m a right ould card shark).
On Saturday night, we went to Foot Club (AKA Fabric). It was good craic despite the fact that the place literally smells like an old sock. After Foot Club, we went back to the apartment and played poker with some random students who climbed in our window thinking they were going into someone elses apartment. In their defence, we sort of invited them in. They had asked us where was ‘Jay’ and seeing as our mate Jason was there, we told them to come in. It turns out they were looking for apartment block J but it was a worthwhile mistake – we made €8 out of the suckers. Mwhahahaha.
On Sunday morning/afternoon, I woke up looking like I’d been punched repeatedly in my right eye.
Blood. Shot. and. very. VERY. sore.
I literally couldn’t look into any light – my eye flashed with pain everytime it had to adjust. For the next two days I sat on the couch, under my sleeping blanket with my hoody on and sunnies, sipping wine and west coast cooler whilst my friends took turns keeping me company in the darkness. It must have been 30 degrees outside, but my eye made me feel bloody miserable. The copius amounts of drink and America’s Next Top Model did help ease the pain though.
On my return back to Dublin on Monday night, I went straight to the Eye and Ear where a doctor kindly informed me that I have an eye infection and can’t wear contacts for two weeks. Whilst being relieved that a piece of my contact lens wasn’t stuck in my eye or some other horror story, I was a leetle worried as I have no glasses (I am a vain vain cow). I had to go get a prescription for specs yesterday and fork out a ridiculous amount of money that I am too ashamed to put in writing.
Finally last night, sitting less than one foot away from the telly, I watched the finale of Lost with my right eye closed. It was amazing, if not totally nonsensical, but I can’t wait to watch it again in proper, both eyes open, vision.
[this may be the longest post I've ever written ... a mighty achievement when your nose is two inches away from the computer screen!]