I can look myself in the mirror and say, my eyes are blue and my hair is brown with blonde lights that shine in the sun. My skin is far too pale and has many faded freckles. These are the objective facts I am supposed to know about myself, even these I find difficult. For other people, these facts extend to easy statements like, “I’m really loud,” or “I’m never serious”. How can they so glibly define themselves? There is little I can say objectively about myself. Ask me to define myself and I stall. I find it hard to even declare that stupid issue of nationality and it can’t be ignored because a name like Doireann begs to be explained.

            Perhaps this is where I fail in friendships. It’s the sharp clearly defined personality that stands out. “That person knows who they are, and I want to know too”. How can people know you if you don’t know yourself? There is something intensely attractive about confidence and definition from other people. Everyone attempts at some point to conjure a “best self” but when that image crumbles, the real person emerges. Sometimes you still like them, sometimes not. The authentic person is rare and the compulsion to know them is strong.

            I couldn’t even begin to describe myself. Am I serious or comical? Am I loud or quiet? No-one is ever one of these things all the time, but I fail to notice the most basic consistencies in my personality. Maybe there are none, except for weakness. I care too much and I let it show. In return I receive…nothing. No bitter refusal of friendship or cruel gesture just a general lack of contact. A nonchalance that seems to taunt and say, “I don’t need to see you.” It makes me cry, what’s wrong with me?

            Everyone from college is so completely adjusted to the reality of where they are, making friends, going out. I seem to slide into a stiff neck Victorian prudery that removes me from everyone’s line of sight. I bathed my sorrows this summer in clothes and vanity. At least, if I try to look well no-one can comment on that most obvious outer shell. And whatever rejection my person receives I can toss it off with a “they don’t really know me” remark.

            What does it take? Does one have to prostitute oneself? Funny at parties, the one with the mad ideas? Sometimes I am that person, but not all the time. Sometimes I just close down. I’m not going to change myself.  Am I only good for passport favours and fridge magnets?

            Now I am going into a situation where everyone else has their friends from last year, and is settled in, and coming back to that comfort of knowing they have people to get back to. Not even that they must stick with them religiously but that they have a base from which to comfortably explore college. My closest friends will be gone abroad for the year. My friendship with Anna may as well be dead, and even if she were to run to me and grovel I could never view her same way again. Emer has her life; her boyfriend, his friends, and obsessive school work. Suddenly it seems with exception of … that the people I hold dear have forgotten me. So I have to start-over, begin the painful process of selling myself again, but more successfully than last. I have to be tough. I have to treat it like work, because it is. Maybe I’ll get the payoff this year.

            And maybe my eyes are green.  

Back from the dead.

Recent experiences:

Smoked pot for the first time.

Saw an amazing band in concert, The Chalets, at the Village in concert.

Made more friends. Vera and Holly, they rock!! Also, Conor and I have become closer.

Got drunk with Vera and we both cried about next year and how shit it will be with all my friends gone.

Made up an imaginary alter-ego cat for Vera, called Schliebers.

When I came back from England, only Emer was back. I went over to her boyfriend's house to find that everyone had collasped onto the couch from drink and shouting at the tv (it was the six nations rugby match). Then Emer and Will had a fight so it wasn't a very thrilling night and I felt bad for Emer. We ended up cuddling on the couch with a duvet and writing messages into our phones and passing them back and forth because we couldn't talk aloud. We also had frozen pizza and white wine, yum.....

The next two days were cripplingly boring. Emer was busy with Will. Ian wasn't back, neither was Tim. In fact no-one seemed to be around at all. I nearly scratched my eyes out due to boredom. Tuesday evening Ian came back and I made him dinner, and he brought me NY Times from London!!!! I think I squeaked so horribly when he gave it to me that dolphins could hear me. Plus, it was the Sunday edition so it was massive!

Wednesday I woke up, meet my friend Sinead for a walk around Rathmines. She got a lot of things off her chest, like the fact that she doesn't like MaireBrid, the girl who I was meant to live with, either. I know it sounds horrible - but are you meant to go around being friends with people because you feel sorry for them? Becasue that's way Sinead is being friends with MaireBrid and I don't think it's healthy for either of them. I kept my big nose out of it though and listened to what she had to say. Vera then came over and we had lovely cake and tea. We also danced to a music video...it was sad. Sad times.

As she was leaving Ian was coming over to ring the bell and it was decided that we were all going out. I got ready and went up to Vera's for drinks before we went out. Oh man, I four glasses of the rankest white wine ever. I had to chew gum to get the taste out of my mouth. Holly, another friend of Ian's was there, who I haven't really talked to before and she's lovely and we had a good talk about the people in Trinity.

At around 11.00 we all left, got a taxi into town, and meet Sean and Donal at Crawdaddy's nightclub on Harcourt Street. It was a pretty filarious night. Ian was nearly stone sober and kept pulling my leg all night long. Afterwards when we were eating at the chipper, he said, "remember that guy you nearly pulled?" I nearly spat out my burger. I denied it, but I was drunk, he wasn't and he kept at me that I believed I had made out with this randomer!! It was actually classic though. If it wasn't me he did that too I wuld have thought it one of the funniest bits Ian's ever pulled. I also managed to lock my self in the bathrooms of Crawdaddy's. Oh man, my dignity. (The next morning when I woke up Ian's msn message was "I didn't get drunk, for once I have no shame!" and it would be so nice if I could say the same.)

We ended up walking home (fourty minute walk)...ugh. Ian must have thought I was really out of it (I certainly was cold) because he gave me his coat, which was quite funny because it was longer than my skirt so I looked like I was wearing a coat, and tights and little flat shoes, and nothing else. When we went back to halls we bid them adieu and Ian and I had tea in my room and then I went to bed.

The next morning I woke up with the foulest sore throat. Ian made me a fry...yum. Then that evening we tried to do something exciting, but we just ended up lying on my bed, curled up in my duvet, going "I'm bored," "well, what do you want to do?" "I don't know...what do you want to do?" And so on. This went on for three hours. I attempted to make brownies and they failed miserably. Vera invited me up for a film...I went up but I had seen it before so I left after 20 mins because I felt rank and not in the mood. I haven't seen her since then, I hope she doesn't think I'm unforgivably rude.

I still have this horrible sore throat and I've stopped studying because I'm lazy and ill.

got back from england yesterday.

today i got a package from my granny, wishing me a happy st.patrick's day. i cried. i miss my granny, even though she can be so very mean. i miss her. and there is no-one here.