I disappoint myself ladies and gentlemen. As I go through my daily life I am constantly thinking of great things that I want to write about and the moment I log online after a day in the sunshine I discover my brain has melted and my ideas have wandered off somewhere. The bastards.
It is a terrible thing this unreliability. The unreliability of my brain and of the Irish weather. You can't ignore the rare bouts of sunshine and lock yourself indoors with your lappy to further your writing career. You must sit and bask in the sunshine. I am at least attempting to further my literary education by reading everything in my house from Look magazine, to Fifty Shades of Grey, to the collected plays of Chekov. So, on the one hand, I feel every day more like a literary goddess, while simultaneously feeling like the laziest writer in history.
It doesn’t help that there’s the added bonus of my brother having commandeered the living room, the only place where my laptop will access the internet, as his study lair for the dreaded leaving certificate. I was under the impression that the desk in his room was for studying, and the living room was for television but clearly I have a mistaken concept of interior design.
It is also a nightmare to attempt to write outdoors because the glare off the page renders me blind and headachy in a number of minutes which doesn’t make for good writing-it makes for bitching, moaning and exceptionally dire poetry about the sun as a weapon against me.
I am currently attempting to form a list of topics on which I would particularly like to elaborate (some of which, I realise, will make me appear the quintessentially pretentious student but I swear I’m not trying to look intellectual-I really am a nerd!). The list is shockingly short, due in part to the distraction of my father playing on his iPhone while eating his dinner across from me, as I have been exiled to the kitchen. He’s a loud chewer, not much of an excuse for my rambling but it’s the excuse I’m making nonetheless.
By way of another excuse I am horribly dehydrated because I have been lizard-woman all day, basking in the uncharacteristic Irish sunshine. I have a headache that feels like I was violently beaten by a gang. A big one. Of boys. With tattoos. I am hoping once the heat fog clears from my brain (and my brother fecks off to bed) that I will resurrect my night-owl inner writer to dazzle you with all manner of criticism, wit and let’s be honest, probably a lot of rambling. ’Til then I really must end this trail of nonsense (because if my father scrapes his plate with his knife again I will throw my laptop at him) and bid you a fond farewell with an apology for the self-centred drivel you have just read! I promise that I shall thoroughly warm up my creative brain muscles before I write next time.