Sod's law

So.  As soon as my time actually becomes considerably less available, everything I wanted falls into place.

I started my Radio Journalism thingymajig at the BBC yesterday.  I am 70% excited, 30% scared.  There's a lot of work to be done.  And whilst half of the course comprises of journalistic development, the other half is editing and production, which I have absolutely no experience in.  I am, of course, really eager and happy to have this opportunity, but I am a bit nervous.  My time is definitely going to more exclusive, as we were informed that the speed with which they teach us and take us to our diploma is one third of the usual length- e.g., a lot squeezed into a small time frame.  SO, bearing this in mind, it would be only right that I should be offered about a dozen jobs off Prospect Solution (the academic consultancy company I freelance for) in the past few days.  SO annoying because I could really use the extra cash.

Time management skills are clearly going to be tested.

Going to the rugby and football this weekend.  Completely a weekend of 2007/2008 for me, I am looking forward to it!

And I Don't Even Mind Being Ill...

I think my body is beginning to give up.  I am so sick at the minute, and have been in a half state of illness for what seems like weeks now.  Everytime my body flirts with the idea of a full recovery, I get whipped into submission again.  Its quite frustrating, and yet, I am disgustingly chipper and loved up at the minute.  Yuck.  I scorn MYSELF!

Narcoleptic Dreams...

....overlap worryingly with reality.  I can't quite believe a lot of today has happened, as I keep passing out in various locations.  I got up really early to scoot N off to work, cleaned like a bastard, but then woke later on my sofa.  Later, I woke up outside CI Rugby club.

Only after about 2 hours farting about Belmont, did I finally wake up, so to speak, in Tescos.  I will be fine for later but for now, I feel distinctly spun out.

I am really happy at the minute.  Deliriously happy, disgustingly happy, illegally happy.  So happy in fact, that I have now surpassed the stage of "I am so happy, bad stuff must be about to happen".  THAT happy.

Swings and roundabouts

Old Man Time is playing with me.  My initial fear about moving back to Belfast was that I would find myself trapped in the same old, same old.  This obviously was noted by the powers that be, the gods of Fate.  And not without a dry swipe of humour as well.

Once again, as was the case 5 years ago, HMV has become somewhat of an organ of social contact for me.  Whilst unintentional, a lot of my friends [still] work there.  Its not quite my heart of social contact, but for it to feature is amusing.  I am back living at home, albeit temporarily with far better prospects, but nonetheless, same as five years ago.  And the cherry on the cake is the fact that I am totally crushing on my five year ago crush again, although, again, this time with far better prospects (as in, he actually speaks to me now).  Weird. 

Thankfully, all this could be depressing as hell, but its not really.  It all had matured and moved on.  Its like a different play being performed with the same set.

A Movie Script Ending?

Have we reached a point where in order to make a movie about "real life", the happy ending has to be sacrificed?!  I went to the QFT last night to watch a film called Fish Tank.  It was good, I suspose, except Christ, leaving it was such a downer.  The laughs throughout the film were generated mainly from hearing young children saying "fuck" and stuff, which in actuality, ought to have been depressing.  The main character had a weird/potentially paedophilic encounter with her mother's boyfriend, who was also secretly married with a child, had no friends, tried to free a pony which eventually got shot, and when she tried to follow her dreams of being a dancer, inadvertantly went to audition for a strip club.  Her only "good" thing was when her half boyfriend gypsy friend took her off to Cardiff in the end.  JESUS.

I have been misbehaving again recently.  However, as I am not annonymous in this, I actually can't write what I have been up to.  Shame, cause its hot.  Hahaha.

This Ain't Gonna Be Easy [Work work work]

My god, the past few days, and the imminent few days.  Thats all I have to say- My god.

Yeah, I'm pretty busy.  I'm working at a local festival, called the Openhouse Festival.  Its good fun, free music in return for pulling some pints.  If you are spirited, the tips are fairly mega too.  I also have a couple of writing gigs, which is good.  Yes, thats right, I said "good"- the universally accepted positive word to express a measured response.  Of course it is good to be getting work, to be getting recognised and approached for various projects, its just I can't help but feel that I'm perhaps on the brink of getting in over my head time wise.  I had a flash of inspiration yesterday and decided to just ring up the guy who runs Panic Dots and pitch a series to him.  He loved it, so I have to develop that fairly quickly.  I am also doing a piece for an old friend, who I really almost want to over perform for, as I was so flattered he asked me to help.  All this and lots of festival work too.

In another way, it probably couldn't have come at a better time.  I am so frustrated living at home.  I don't actually even want to write about it as it will only serve to fan the flames of irritation.  However, I applied to get on a Radio Journalism course at the BBC, where I will get a degree level diploma and 6 months direct work experience.  Basically doing all the things you simply can't get as a volunteer without technical know how.  Again, I am reluctant to talk too much about it, as I don't find out if I have got the place until Monday.  I don't want to get too excited, for fear of disappointment.  But yes, in that vein, were I to somehow secure a place, I would invariably have to stay longer at Merok.  I may apply to the Housing Benefit Executive, appeal for some sort of help.

Those French bohemians may have liked self induced poverty, but I bet they didn't live with their parents...

Fever Pitch

While I was sick during the weekend, I had one particularly fruitful night of dreams.  I was utterly convinced that many of the dreams I had would make excellent break through or defining novels/stories/screenplays for me.  Sadly I can only remember two now, but they just hit me again upstairs and I had to swallow a guffaw at my ill fevered brain.

1- "The Passion Of The Priest"-  A priest who falls in love with a poet who comes into his confessional.
2- A woman who is so tormented from her lost baby and lost love that she frequently mistakes a loaf of bread for the child.

HMM.