Escaping (Part One).
A week ago, a very clear message as distinct and vivid as a motorway billboard was seared into my mind as I awoke, it said; “I have to get out of this attic”. Any of you who have the misfortune of maintaining regular contact with me will know that for the last month, whilst on an undetermined hiatus from teaching, I have been moonlighting as an accountant. Remove any images of a cushy temp number from your mind; I accepted the gargantuan task of assisting my father sort out his accounts. It was a job that entailed working in the room where I was temporarily residing, with the sheer volume of paperwork required meaning that I was working from when I awoke in the morning, to when I drifted off, delirious and red-eyed at some ridiculously late hour. As you can see, this environment for an entire month got slightly claustrophobic and it was verging on going a bit Virginia Andrews.
The saving grace being that we could watch movies while we worked, this made the hours fly by, and it was only after four solid weeks of staring at Excel when it occurred to me that I should probably distance myself for a few days. I was becoming increasingly more forlorn and irritable than usual, and had stopped even trying to dress well (A sure sign of a downward spiral). So I packed up my little suitcase that I have been living out of since Christmas last and headed back to the west of Ireland for a few days. I have been commuting the 250 mile journey between my house and my parent’s home quite frequently of late.
The weekend was spent in a very fuzzy blur of movies and wine, there was over twenty movies watched over the course of a few days, with the intention of reviewing all of them for these pages. Ah well, the road to hell and all that. After several in house marathons, we slumped our way to the Town Hall to see “Gomorra” on the big screen; it was long and generally forgettable. After that, knowing full well that I had to get up the next day to travel back to Dublin, I did the sensible thing and sat up all night watching more movies. I think this was an attempt to eradicate the memory of sitting in a cramped smelly theatre for almost three hours of celluloid sedation. Morning came unnaturally quickly and toddled off with suitcase in hand, to catch a 7am bus.
We will skip the next few travel orientated hours and find ourselves at five o’clock on Monday evening. I found myself slightly dazed and heading into Dublin again. I had tickets to see Amanda Palmer in the Sugar Club, which I had been looking forward to. Damn shame then that I was beginning to feel pretty wretched, I was in no mood for company, let alone a gig, all I wanted was a bed and to see no one for several days. Strange, how that is usually the perfect mood to go and see something then, because more often than not, the less excited you are about something you are going to see, the more likely you are to have an amazing time.
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