The week back from Galway, I promptly fell apart and had a major breakdown. I'd been fighting it off over the week, but without distractions I finally collapsed. I still feel like it's Sunday (that's how slow I am), I've been crying every day, every night, unable to concentrate on anything. I can't think, I can't talk, I can't read, I can't do any work whatsoever. The longest I've been able to stay on one idea is watching stupid comedy shows onine. I mean, this is difficult, right here, and this isn't even a real entry.
So... it's very bad. Thank you to those who have e-mailed me, or messaged me on Facebook. If my mother is reading this: you may have to take me to a doctor, if you want to take me anywhere, when I get home... a proper doctor. This is neither normal nor healthy, and if I hear another counsellor tell me "You're stressed" I'm going to scream in made-up languages and throw up all over them, and see what they think of that.
I said I would update my blog with actual things, but that may take a while yet. I have to somehow write a paper this weekend, and that's bad enough, even without exams coming up. I don't know if I will pass my exams. I may not have earned a passing grade on my last paper (I don't know). I don't know if my GPA will survive if I fail a class, and I don't know who to ask or what to do. If you know, or can help me, please do. Please.
I have to stop typing now because I'm crying again and I'm in the library.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Warning: Filler Post
You know those little things that need to get done, but never do? I'm trying to slog through them today, and relax my mind between Good Friday and Easter Sunday... and one of those things, I hope, will be updating this blog.
Another is when and where to get on and off the bus this Monday. Getting from Belfast to Galway is more difficult than it sounds. And I don't do well with difficulty.... though, of course, it depends on the situation. At this moment, I'm studying Irish grammar while watching Japanese cartoons subbed in Spanish.
And knitting a sock. This is relaxation, see.
EDIT: Or not. I'm only getting internet with my window open, and it's too cold to type for long periods of time *sigh* so... Easter, next week?
Another is when and where to get on and off the bus this Monday. Getting from Belfast to Galway is more difficult than it sounds. And I don't do well with difficulty.... though, of course, it depends on the situation. At this moment, I'm studying Irish grammar while watching Japanese cartoons subbed in Spanish.
And knitting a sock. This is relaxation, see.
EDIT: Or not. I'm only getting internet with my window open, and it's too cold to type for long periods of time *sigh* so... Easter, next week?
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Food, Glorious Food
It just occurred to me that it's been a while since I talked about eating something weird.
I shall now attempt to make up for this slovenly behaviour.
This is dulse:
Dulse is a type of edible seaweed, that you can buy in little baggies from the Whitten's - the local fruit & veg shop. It tastes exactly like you'd expect seaweed to taste - very, very strongly of the sea.
This is spaghetti with mushrooms, cheese, and dulse:
For those of us who appreciate the delicately interwoven flavours of seawater and fungus. Mmm!
Then there are these, not so weird:
An unexpected sight for people with a TV-view of the UK. But, yes, they do have cookies here. They're what we in the States would call chocolate-chip cookies. Here, that term is redundant.
And then:
Yes. I did find noodles in a packet. I can always find noodles in a packet. Apparently, they're made in Singapore, and the flavour packets have pictures of the animals they're supposed to taste like, just in case you can't read any of the several languages splattered on the package.
Time for dinner!
I shall now attempt to make up for this slovenly behaviour.
This is dulse:
Image from http://www.dulseonline.co.uk/dulse/
Dulse is a type of edible seaweed, that you can buy in little baggies from the Whitten's - the local fruit & veg shop. It tastes exactly like you'd expect seaweed to taste - very, very strongly of the sea.
This is spaghetti with mushrooms, cheese, and dulse:
For those of us who appreciate the delicately interwoven flavours of seawater and fungus. Mmm!
Then there are these, not so weird:
An unexpected sight for people with a TV-view of the UK. But, yes, they do have cookies here. They're what we in the States would call chocolate-chip cookies. Here, that term is redundant.
And then:
Yes. I did find noodles in a packet. I can always find noodles in a packet. Apparently, they're made in Singapore, and the flavour packets have pictures of the animals they're supposed to taste like, just in case you can't read any of the several languages splattered on the package.
Time for dinner!
You Can't Get There From Here
It's like this: unionism, in favour of the union; nationalism, in favour of an all-island republic. Loyalism, violent unionism; republicanism, violent nationalism. Troubles: baaad. Lots of violence. Recent violence. Allied with Christian denomination: unionists, Protestant; nationalists, Catholic.
These are extreme generalizations, yes. But the associations are true enough to segregate a good portion of Belfast. I was recently told that, even on prosperous mixed streets like Malone, people avoid problems by just ignoring each others' existance, and that's peace.
The best-known examples, though, of clear territorial differences are places like Sandy Row and the Falls Road.
Last week, I attempted to walk to the Falls via Sandy Row. Did not work. Bad idea.
Just look up the nearest lamppost. DUP and UUP stuck repeatedly on top of each other? You're on a Protestant/unionist street. Sinn Féin vs. the SDLP? Catholic/nationalist. Alliance? Oh, poor Alliance... probably Catholic.
Anyway, the librarian just told me they're closing, so... bye for now! Pictures from the Falls sometime in the future! I did manage to find it in the end!
These are extreme generalizations, yes. But the associations are true enough to segregate a good portion of Belfast. I was recently told that, even on prosperous mixed streets like Malone, people avoid problems by just ignoring each others' existance, and that's peace.
The best-known examples, though, of clear territorial differences are places like Sandy Row and the Falls Road.
Last week, I attempted to walk to the Falls via Sandy Row. Did not work. Bad idea.
I'm sure the people there are quite nice. But... there are still large murals of gunmen on the walls, and red, white and blue curbs, and UVF graffiti and so on. I got lost by a roundabout, and had to go back. And let's just say that pigs would have to grow quite a few wings before I'd go up to somebody on "Loyalist Sandy Row" and ask for directions to the Falls.
These are pretty old by now... now we have election posters.
That's how you can tell whether you're in a Protestant or Catholic area: the posters. The two sides aren't vying with each other. The parliament is set up in a way that makes it impossible... to pass legislation, it has to be passed by a majority of both parties. So the various nationalist parties are against each other, and ditto for the unionists. This means that they only put posters up in their own streets, because they know it'd be pointless in the others' streets.
Just look up the nearest lamppost. DUP and UUP stuck repeatedly on top of each other? You're on a Protestant/unionist street. Sinn Féin vs. the SDLP? Catholic/nationalist. Alliance? Oh, poor Alliance... probably Catholic.
Anyway, the librarian just told me they're closing, so... bye for now! Pictures from the Falls sometime in the future! I did manage to find it in the end!
Dublin: This Is Later, Here's The More
The other things I saw in Dublin, besides the Book of Kells, were, well... besides the Book of Kells, most things pale in comparison. But I did go to two cathedrals, the National Museum of Archaeology and History, the library across from it, and St. Stephen's Green.
St. Stephen's Green is a lovely park in the middle of the city, a calm green place full of flowers, statues, and people. I found it interesting to walk through after having read a first-person account of the Easter Rising (for class) in which a man tries to get to St. Stephen's Green. He describes the trains being stopped, the nervous Volunteers at the street corners and inside the park, with guns, conversing with the people walking by on the other side of the fences. It was a very odd way to start a war. I mean, they took over the Post Office, because they didn't have enough people to fight off soldiers.
Everything is interesting when you know the history... when you have different times, different people, in the back of your mind for every place you see and experience.
I can try and do an entry of a brief summary of recent Irish history, if this doesn't make sense. If you've seen the rather sensationalized history in the Michael Collins* movie, however, this should sound familiar.
You can still see the bullet holes in the walls of the Post Office.
St. Patrick's Cathedral is huge, ornate, filled with history (and memorials), beautiful. The churches here look like cathedrals to me, and the cathedrals... well.
I was especially cheered to see a little memorial for O'Carolan:
Turlough O'Carolan was a harper and composer from the 17th-18th centuries. He wrote many tunes well-known and loved today (at least, among those who listen to Irish music). These include "Eleanor Plunkett," "Hewlett," "Planxty George Brabazon," and "Sí Bheag, Sí Mhór" (whatever way you spell it). My father plays** some of these, on the harp, on the flute, and on the penny whistle. Here's a YouTube video of Brabazon: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=flFztcgO4zg This was one of my favourite pieces of music as a child, before I knew its name, before I knew what "Irish" music even was!
And we came in time to hear the choir group singing.
At the archaeology museum, we saw gold and bodies. Yes, I mean that. There was a beautifully well-done exhibit on Irish bog bodies, on how they got there, what their world was like, and what scientists can learn from them. Then, there were rooms of prehistoric artefacts, which, in Europe, mean lots and lots of gold things. It was a little overwhelming. I just may have to go back.
In fact, I'm going back to Dublin on Monday, to wander around a few more museums and poke my nose into a few bookshops. I refuse, however, to get a picture taken of myself with my arm around Molly Malone,*** or buy any articles of knitwear.
* You should see it. History: meh. Plot: lots of guns. Alan Rickman playing a slimy politician with an Irish accent: so totally worth it.
** I could play them on my flute if I had the music. My flute is named Eleanor after the first tune... though I've been ignoring her of late, which is a shame, but I just can't stand to try practicing again when there are people around to hear how bad I sound, and so, I never get to sounding better! It's a vicious cycle.
*** She's made of bronze, and stands on a major street somewhere. Dubliners call her "the Tart with the Cart." I'm going to assume you know what I'm talking about (if you don't, I envy you).
St. Stephen's Green is a lovely park in the middle of the city, a calm green place full of flowers, statues, and people. I found it interesting to walk through after having read a first-person account of the Easter Rising (for class) in which a man tries to get to St. Stephen's Green. He describes the trains being stopped, the nervous Volunteers at the street corners and inside the park, with guns, conversing with the people walking by on the other side of the fences. It was a very odd way to start a war. I mean, they took over the Post Office, because they didn't have enough people to fight off soldiers.
 |
| The Three Fates statue, St. Stephen's Green |
 |
| James Joyce, also at St. Stephen's Green |
I can try and do an entry of a brief summary of recent Irish history, if this doesn't make sense. If you've seen the rather sensationalized history in the Michael Collins* movie, however, this should sound familiar.
You can still see the bullet holes in the walls of the Post Office.
St. Patrick's Cathedral is huge, ornate, filled with history (and memorials), beautiful. The churches here look like cathedrals to me, and the cathedrals... well.
 |
| Jonathan Swift's grave |
I was especially cheered to see a little memorial for O'Carolan:
Turlough O'Carolan was a harper and composer from the 17th-18th centuries. He wrote many tunes well-known and loved today (at least, among those who listen to Irish music). These include "Eleanor Plunkett," "Hewlett," "Planxty George Brabazon," and "Sí Bheag, Sí Mhór" (whatever way you spell it). My father plays** some of these, on the harp, on the flute, and on the penny whistle. Here's a YouTube video of Brabazon: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=flFztcgO4zg This was one of my favourite pieces of music as a child, before I knew its name, before I knew what "Irish" music even was!
And we came in time to hear the choir group singing.
At the archaeology museum, we saw gold and bodies. Yes, I mean that. There was a beautifully well-done exhibit on Irish bog bodies, on how they got there, what their world was like, and what scientists can learn from them. Then, there were rooms of prehistoric artefacts, which, in Europe, mean lots and lots of gold things. It was a little overwhelming. I just may have to go back.
In fact, I'm going back to Dublin on Monday, to wander around a few more museums and poke my nose into a few bookshops. I refuse, however, to get a picture taken of myself with my arm around Molly Malone,*** or buy any articles of knitwear.
* You should see it. History: meh. Plot: lots of guns. Alan Rickman playing a slimy politician with an Irish accent: so totally worth it.
** I could play them on my flute if I had the music. My flute is named Eleanor after the first tune... though I've been ignoring her of late, which is a shame, but I just can't stand to try practicing again when there are people around to hear how bad I sound, and so, I never get to sounding better! It's a vicious cycle.
*** She's made of bronze, and stands on a major street somewhere. Dubliners call her "the Tart with the Cart." I'm going to assume you know what I'm talking about (if you don't, I envy you).
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Easter Break Begins!
Of course, this means that my time here is running out, which makes me want to cry and scream, and take a random bus into the country somewhere and change my name and pretend I'm Irish. But I'm not thinking about it. Not yet. I have to plan my break, and also tell y'all* about my exciting Sunday, about my exciting Monday, about C.S. Lewis and how incredibly odd and awesome he was, and about my socks.
Here are my socks:
I have to go find a calendar now, and decide when to go to Galway, and whether or not I'm going to find a mountain to climb on tomorrow. A nice lady from church - the doctor I mentioned earlier, whose name I can't remember at the moment - showed me Belfast Castle on Sunday, and offered to bring me on a C.S. Lewis walking tour at some point (it would give her an excuse to go - it's the sort of thing that someone living here wouldn't ever think to do, you see). I hope it works out - there's so much I never got round to doing, because nobody told me about it, and I didn't think of it.
* Just in case anyone thought I'd come back with a perfect Irish accent... nope. Sorry. I wish.
** People look at you strangely when they see you take your socks off and fill them with fruit. Fact.
Here are my socks:
They are good socks. They are stripety. And, Katie, if you're reading this, they fit about 10 small oranges' worth** of love, each. I have to go find a calendar now, and decide when to go to Galway, and whether or not I'm going to find a mountain to climb on tomorrow. A nice lady from church - the doctor I mentioned earlier, whose name I can't remember at the moment - showed me Belfast Castle on Sunday, and offered to bring me on a C.S. Lewis walking tour at some point (it would give her an excuse to go - it's the sort of thing that someone living here wouldn't ever think to do, you see). I hope it works out - there's so much I never got round to doing, because nobody told me about it, and I didn't think of it.
* Just in case anyone thought I'd come back with a perfect Irish accent... nope. Sorry. I wish.
** People look at you strangely when they see you take your socks off and fill them with fruit. Fact.
Friday, April 8, 2011
So Hot
Irish student: "Ah, it's so hot out! What? Why are you laughing?"
It was about 65 °F. I love this country.
It was about 65 °F. I love this country.
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