Turning 20

On Sunday I will no longer be a teenager. Its fitting, really; the end of my first year of college, the end of another cornerstone of recovery, the end of my childhood. The start of lots of new things. Vice president of Out in UL. Entertainer in a castle. Legitimate adult. I’m excited about these things. Extremely so. And in combining these things, I feel like I am finally forming an identity that is not Kate, the smart girl or Kate, the fat girl or Kate, painfully thin girl who dropped out of medicine. I’m starting to believe that being just Kate is not such a bad thing.

Its moments like these that I am too often reminiscent. This is fine when its the photo book and friends and remembering the times when you were 17 in a country pub and thought you knew everything you possibly could know about the world. Its not so fine when you’re thinking about the times when you drank too much and acted like an idiot, or worse, when you were completely sober and acted like even more of an idiot. The girls who you fought with and the boys who made you cry and the years that had the capacity for pure brutality. In some ways, I am the same. The same things and the same people still have the horrible capacity to reduce me to an impulsive tearful mess. The same things and the same people still inspire me and give me joy. In some ways, I haven’t changed since I was 12 years old.

In spite of this, I am hopeful. For the first time, I can honestly imagine the future. I’ve been weary with life since the grand old age of thirteen and have never been able to imagine myself older than eighteen. Then it was nineteen. And now… I’m hitting my quarter life crisis 🙂 And I can see it, I can see being older, I can see having cats (maybe even kids), I can see being out of education and having a real job. And even if I couldn’t, even if it passes, at least I see myself alive.



I was younger than I am now. Somewhere between Communion and Confirmation for sure, but my concept of time is simply atrocious. It was summertime (or some non-school/holiday time) and my Dad was working as a courier by day, driving up and down the country, returning people their lost luggage and delivering to CUH amongst other places. Frequently, he made deliveries to Killarney.

As the oldest, I was the first to go on these “runs” with Dad. Into the van, we made our way to Shannon Airport (to collect the cargo) before setting off. Occasionally, we went to Cork or maybe even Galway, but often our destination was the hour and a half or so to Killarney. Part of the ritual was the lunch stop to the service station, as Dad filled the tank, and I selected my sandwich (turkey, lettuce and a whole lot of potato salad was my usual.) We would share the Coke.

If there was time, and there frequently was, we would make a stop at Killarney Outlet Centre. To me, this was the highlight of the day. What did this centre have, only a factory priced bookstore. My mother would often wonder why I came home armed with reduced priced non-fiction and shiny, new stationery.

The journey home was always longer, partly due to the pitstop, mainly due to Dad’s favourite driving practice “Let’s find a new way home” This involved me making a choice between two roads on the road map and Dad using his directional intuition until the buildings of Limerick City once again reared their heads. For all my effort, I was rewarded €2 (or it could have been £1. Concept of time, people.) which I had often already spent in the bookshop.

Since then, Killarney has continued to be a source of happy memories. It is the site of my first date, my first espresso, my first kiss in the rain. It is my stopover on the way to Kells and my BFF, Sinead, in the summer. Whilst you can hardly describe it as a shopping hotspot (try Cork or Dublin) it does hold a very nice Penneys. More importantly than the Penney’s is the atmosphere. I am in love with the park, the playground, the thickets of trees, the castle which I never quite made it to thanks to the rain.

I want to see that castle some day.

Pathogenic Bacteria and the Fourth Dimension

I’m missing school today. Hurray for whatever is infecting my trachea and lungs. But not really. There’s things to be learned. Like Cathal O Searcaigh poems and integration.

But since there’s nothing can be done, why not write a blog? Yes, they have been sparse lately, and yes, all I ever seem to do on this thing is excuse myself of the neglect I so continually involve myself in, but I think I’m past apologizing. Why waste more screen space?

So as I lay in bed, filling the house with the sound of what can only be described as a man-cough, I once again (dude, this is becoming a pattern) find myself musing on time. Not just in my regular “I am an exam student, now listen to me bitch” kind of way. Well, a little bit, but I haven’t quite got around to reading much Steven Hawking lately. When I do, there’ll be a totally physics based discussion on it. Swear 🙂

But time is flying. Its almost Halloween already and it feels like summer is only just ended. There is only a certain amount of hours in the week and really, I need to utilise them better. I spent like five hours doing my homework yesterday and I’m fairly sure I could have halved that, had I the ability to do anything without first going completely anal retentive on my notes. I wile away sections of the evening that could be perfectly well spent doing some exercise or tidying my room watching that same episode of Scrubs I’ve seen 18 times over and scrounging round the house for food I’m not even hungry for. And I moan about my lack of time for a social life and to see everyone, but if I didn’t insist on going all the way out to the Coach so much, that problem would probably be under wraps too.

So, does one self sabotage themselves as regards time? Are people just inclined towards procrastination? More so in times of stress? Or have I just spent another 28 minutes of my life rationalising my own bad habits? 😛