And on the third month, the blog rose from the dead.

As suspected, without anything to procrastinate the blog wilted and withered. But now the Easter of this blog has come and with college starting back on Monday I'm dusting it off and getting back into the swing of things. After a summer filled with laughter and optimism I feel it's time to get back to what's integral to our national identity. Begrudgery. And despair. I've seen new sights, smelled new smells and I'm back home ready to face what's sure to be a most painful year. I cannot wait!

I come back to you all now with fresh eyes and a little more travel under my belt. A weekend break in Barcelona for my mammy and sister's birthdays, swiftly followed by 3 weeks taking in different parts of California mixed with a job and home improvements has left me a little out of breath. It feels like just yesterday I was sitting in the flat in Oviedo waiting for summer to hit. I blinked and practically missed it. I think that's a sign of a successful summer?

I managed to scrape lots more family history into a day trip to the grandparents in Dublin so stay tuned. They are married 60 years this year so that's sure to be a sappy post about true love. In other news, the chocolate addiction continues. I continue to eat my emotions. Luckily the yuppy new puppy, Shadow, a little black lab/terrier cross takes me for a run most days. He's so happy to be alive and just loves affection. Kinda like me these days. I'm changing lots these days. Still as confused as ever but just a little happier to let whatever happens happen. Progress.

Friendlings - An Alien Idea

In a rather novel twist of events, I've found myself a member of a girly group of friends. These girls are all experienced "girlfriends" with them all having oestrogen laden groups back home. I have never really been part of something like this before. I now realise it's kinda magical. I had a best friend for a long time but it was just me and her. To my detriment, I learned that the dynamic changes when more are added to the group. This new one was formed rather naturally though, and it's been incredibly pleasant so far. We have become the Sex and the City of Oviedo. Minus the sex. Almost minus the city too. I think of Oviedo as more of a glorified town, much like my beloved Galway. Aristotle said "A true friend is one soul in two bodies." I'm afraid I'll have to disagree, old chap, because this group couldn't be more different. I don't like to commit myself to heaven or hell as you see, I now realise I'll have friends in both places. 

Would we be friends if circumstance hadn't forced it upon us? Maybe not. But I'm sure glad it did. Maybe I'm just getting sentimental as I'm almost an Erasmus Alumna. In less than 2 weeks we are being forcibly disbanded. For some it's farewell for a summer. For others it's a bit more permanent. This is coming to an end. I'm not ready. I can't wait for summer and I'm leaving college with a bang next year, but I just wish we had more time. I'm jealous of the outbound Erasmus kids with this all ahead of them. I just want more time. 

In other news, I was over-zealous with my tweezers this morning and I have a bit of a startled earwig look about me. This opened my eyes to the importance of eyebrows. Big Yellow Taxi is on repeat in my head. "Don't it always seem to go That you don't know what you got, til it's gone." Not the greatest look for the hundreds of pictures that are inevitable in the coming week. I don't think Dr. Suess is going to help me out this time though. I think I am going to cry because it's over. A lot. I don't think Dr. Suess ever went on Erasmus. Stay tuned for more rabid ramblings of an over-emotional college student trying to part with her glory days. 

Some feel-good (or maybe just feel better) music.

A Fool With a Tool Is Still a Fool.

Today I learned that when reviewing your notes before an exam, the most important ones will be illegible. My penmanship let me down around 4am last night it would appear. Naturally I applied the age old adage, "If you can't convince 'em, confuse 'em". To be fair, I wasn't devastated coming out of the exam and it's not because I don't care. I really need to pass some of these exams as I have a jam packed summer that's hurtling itself towards me quick smart. On second thought, maybe I'm hurtling myself towards summer. Maybe summer is indifferent to my existence. Summer, please be kind to me. Final year is already minus craic on the study front.

The professor of the literature course is actually a lovely, grandfatherly type of a man. He seems like he'd be great to sit by a fire with (or in this case, on a terrace or something) and listen to all his wonderful stories. As long as there was no pop quiz at the end. Which there was in this case. All I want is a pass. Like most of the educated ageing generation in Spain he is always impeccably dressed. I don't understand how the Europeans manage it but they always present themselves fabulously. Shined shoes and well cut jackets. Does he wear a dickie bow? In my head he does. He spent the exam playing with coins in his pocket and it didn't even make my blood boil. I highly doubt it's because I'm becoming more tolerant. Even though his lectures always felt like an eternity and I never understood a word he said, I really took a shining to him.

I figure we'll either do really well or really crap. When it rains, it pours. Sure, the cookie crumbles - but in whose hand? I'm on the road to success. I have to be. Too bad the road is always under construction.

In other news I finished work at the primary school the other day. It was such a lovely ending to what has been a marvellous year. Songs and games and still struggling with each others names. Goodbyes can be hard but I looked to Dr. Suess on this one and concluded: "Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened." So smile I did.

6ºA and Yours Truly

My Dating Life? I Date Back to 1650!

My family. We are a strange band of characters plodding along through life sharing diseases and toothpaste, coveting one another's desserts, hiding shampoo, borrowing money, locking each other out of ours rooms, yelling at each other to empty the dishwasher or answer the phone (or heaven forbid - the door!)...and trying to find the common thread that binds us all together. You'll often find that the informality of family life is a blessed condition that allows us to become our best all the while looking our worst. And God bless my poor family who had to put up with me whilst I was going through my angst-ridden teenage years. That must have been the absolute worst.

Thankfully, we all made it out in one piece and I have developed a stronger appreciation of family and the unconditional love, support and acceptance that comes with it. Although as a typically Irish family, we wouldn't be huggin' or kissin' or shit. My sweet (and sometimes sour - she's 15) sister is an avid history lover and has put lots of time into researching our ancestry. Before now I had only a passing interest in it, impressed that she managed to get back 6 generations to the year 1790. Hours spent scouring Irish Census Records and pestering our 4 (sadly now 3) beloved grandparents really paid off. Maybe I'm just a visual soul but the efficient spread sheet she had produced wasn't really hitting the spot for me. On a side note; I really enjoyed seeing the censuses (or is it censi?) with my ancestors actual handwriting - penmanship sure isn't taught the way it used to be! Here is the 1901 census for the Nolans of Kilconnor House. Thomas Nolan was the head of the family at the time. He was 63 and he was my Grandad's grandfather. His son Nicholas, who was 26 at the time of the census, was my Grandad's dad. You can check out the whole thing right here.

Anyway, whilst procrastinating recently, I typed the name of my maternal grandparents old farmhouse into Google. Low and behold, I have a picture of the estate as it was in all its former glory dating back to 1650. Suddenly, I'm entranced.

Kilconnor House Originally

The Watsons came from England and settled in County Carlow where this stately home was built. They lived there for many generations until it was eventually sold to a local, Dr. Nolan (no relation to me I don't think). My great grandfather, Nicholas Nolan eventually bought the house. By the time he had bought it however, the house had become so expensive to run that lots of it had already been knocked and remodelled. The back portion of the right hand side is all that is standing today. You can still see the Gothic-style five bay window at the end of the house. 

Kilconnor House Today

That photo was taken in 1999 but it's remained largely the same, down to the white fence out front. My Godparents, Eddie and Angela, are raising their two girls there now and are doing it up bit by bit. When I can't sleep at night and I'm staring at the ceiling, I can see the crown mouldings. However, they don't stay within the confines of one room. You can follow them from one room to another, where the walls are partitions of the originally grand and glamorous rooms. I can't help but imagine lavish 18th century balls with horse-drawn carriages out front. Gentlemen in green velvet coats and ladies with corseted small waists and ribbons in their hair. Jane Austen - come at me, bro.

Strolling around the yard some of the ruins from the original house can be seen. I never paid heed as a child that the now glassless window frames we were jumping through might have actually been part of something. As I'm still in Spain I don't have any photos to add at the moment but I'll try and get an update when I get back. The land is extensive and to the front of the house lies a massive field with what has come to be an iconic tree in the centre. There is nothing better than waking up and looking out the window to see the sprawling branches loom above the yellow flowers of oilseed rape in bloom. For all my love of the internet it is so nice to not have wifi there, to be free for just a few days (before the cabin fever sets in), to breathe in the distinct scent and recover for a while.

I remember my poor ole Granddad chasing us with his stick to strike the fear of God into my cousins and I for jumping from bale to bale of silage. Our wellies would rip right through the plastic and then it wouldn't keep and we'd ruin all his hard work. We always knew we were forgiven though when at the end of our trip he'd slip us £2 and tell us not to spend it all in the one shop. He was a gruff man with a heart of gold. A softie until the very end. To distract himself from the pain of cancer, he used to sing himself to sleep. Nothing like an old Irish tune to soothe a troubled soul. I still miss him. To my poor heartbroken Granny - I salute you.

So while my sister's fascination lies in our history, our roots and lineage, I am more enticed by our recent past. The past that has my own memories. Smell is one of my strongest triggers for memory and it always manages to hit me hardest in Kilconnor. But a certain smell is not something easily recreated. I'm aching for the smell of Granny's brown-bread fresh out of the oven, of the sap from the sticks loaded into the fire night after freezing cold night, of the musty old wardrobes. I love the stories that come out; like the time my mom and her sister tried to glue a statue back together with Vick's Vaporub so they wouldn't get caught, or how my great grandmother used to wind the kids up before sending them off to bed and snap when they wouldn't settle down. All it takes is one photo or one sly joke about a bygone time and the stories unravel.

I suppose I'm also finding myself lost in my own world with my imagination. What went on in that great old house that no one still living can remember? What celebrations, scandals and tragedies are forever lost? You can't pick your family, that's for sure. But I couldn't have picked mine any better if I'd tried.

I'll be the first to admit that my compass may not be pointing due north. I may not know where I'm going, but I'll always be proud to know where I come from. 

Textually Frustrated

I am an accomplice in my own frustration. Last semester I swore that things would be better and classes would be easier and exams would be passable. How did it get so late so soon? I am now sitting reading notes that are in psychological Spanglish. That is, they are neither one language or the other but a weird mixture of both. On top of that, I'm trying to deal with the convoluted language that comes with studying psychology. Like taxes and death, it's mandatory pain. I struggle enough with it in English.

I am sitting in a study group where we all have one way tickets to Strop Central. I'm on the verge of a Nervy B myself. Sane, rational human beings are developing twitches. I just witnessed my amiga flick her hair back. Even though it's a in a bun on top of her head. Soon we'll all be dithery spazzes who sit in darkened rooms cackling menacingly. For now, we are functioning wrecks. My only hope is that we survive the oncoming trauma.

On top of this I'm trying to manage my new found caffeine addiction. Nothing beats the smell of a fresh pot of coffee. I associate it with summer. With lazy mornings. With freedom. *Deep breath* I can nearly smell it. The freedom that is. My brother is arriving in a few days and I have a week to show him around this wonderful region before I move home to inevitable rain and ultimate ruin. I can already see myself holed up redoing essays and trying to make up credits to get me into my fourth and final year.

I sound very glass half-empty these days. I used to be glass half-full. I don't care about the glass. I want to know what's in the glass. Please let it be gin.

Why do I get the feeling happy hippos won't cure this one?
I'd love to be a happy hippo.
Or a bird.
Flying would definitely be my superpower.

Yes, please, please let it be gin.

To bitch or not to bitch...

I kind of lost the run of myself on the first blog post. I don’t know where I thought I was but it sounded like I was about to embark on a trip around the world. Pffft, if only. I'm very new to the blogging world so some patience is required. As I have yet to find my groove here, for now I'll just update you on what can be expected. This blog will not offer pearls of wisdom to you all. I am no authority on life or love. I can’t offer advice on health, happiness or hippy feelings of calm and inner peace. Frankly, I have an unhealthy relationship with chocolate and I sometimes find myself so annoyed I start foaming at the mouth and my eyes roll back in my head (see blog title). I am impatient and intolerant. I walk around wishing certain people would step on Lego. In their bare feet. Have you ever heard that saying "Some people cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go."? Let's just say I enjoy long walks. Especially taken by those who annoy me.

In trying to figure out what kind of person I am in order to make improvements, I began to wonder about protocol on bitching. Am I a bitch? We sometimes call it different things to justify it to ourselves. Venting is a personal favourite. Friends who love a gossip or a bitching session put it down to "venting" or "letting off steam" and it seems to give us a free pass to say what we like. It doesn't change the essence of it though. It's still gathering and saying mean things. And it sometimes feels great to get things off your chest. It's a release. So is it realistic to expect people *not* to bitch/vent/let off steam? I'd probably implode. Rage would consume me. The world is filled with idiots and I seem run into a lot of them. Light travels faster than sound. That’s why some people appear bright until they speak. 

Even wondering about this stuff I started to get a bit worked up.Then I took a breath and let it go. As a kid, my Dad read me and my brothers The Chronicles of Narnia. It popped into my head the other day and I was looking up a bit about the author, C.S. Lewis. I found a quote that said "True humility is not thinking less of yourself, it is thinking of yourself less." So maybe I shouldn't be thinking along these lines at all. I seem to be using the world "I" a lot. I don't know if that comes with the territory of writing a blog but it may be that all this introspection is leading me to narcissism. 

I think this could all be solved with another bar of Lindt though. And maybe a few happy hippos. 

Procrastina-

I love deadlines. I love the whooshing sound they make as they fly by. 
One of these days I'm going to get help for my procrastination problem. I have 5 exams over the next two weeks and currently, I haven't a hope of passing. Then again, if it weren't for the last minute, I'd never get anything done! Things always seem to come right in the end. 

I'm a 20 year old Irish maiden studying in Spain. It probably speaks volumes about me that it's taken me until 3 weeks before I'm homeward bound before I managed to set up an erasmus blog. So far, I've spent about an hour writing this much. I can already see this poor unassuming blog dying a death. 

Education has had me in its clutches since I was 4 years old. I tell a lie, I dropped out of play school before I could graduate with the class. I came home with rat poison in my pocket. Apparently we were all taken down to where the dish of rat poison was and told "Now this is dangerous, don't touch it". Challenge accepted. Since then, poisonous blip aside, I have fallen (and sometimes been given an encouraging push) through the system like flour through a sieve. 

Growing up, I always thought college kids had their lives figured out and were really really smart. I can assure you that I have neither my life figured out nor am I really really smart. I'm not even really smart! I don't know where I got that idea from. It's comical to think that in less than a year I will have a degree in Psychology and Spanish. I will be a full-blown rabid, rambling, cross-eyed grown up.  Sadly, or maybe not so sadly, I'm not alone. Most of my fellow Arts buddies are comrades in arms. Year after year they churn out dazed and confused graduates with absolutely no idea of what to do with themselves. I am not the exception, I am the rule. When did I become a statistic? More importantly, how much work is it to stop being the statistic? To make something significant of myself and be able to brag at reunions about how grrrrreat my life turned out? 

For now, I am ready to leave it all behind. This year abroad has been a taster for what the big wide world has to offer, and it's left me hungry for more. Someone clever once said, "A wise traveler never despises his own country." It took coming away for me to find my grá for Ireland. My rainy village on the west coast of Ireland will now always be a home that I'm proud of but I want more. I want to feel the buzz of a big city and hear my voice boom through a massive mountain range. I want to camp out on a balmy summers night and to hole up in a cheap hostel during a thunderstorm. I really want to settle for months at a time to get to know the local culture, cuisine and people. There is nothing more satisfying than walking down a street in Oviedo and being asked for directions. Then, when I've had my fill, I want to take off again on a whim. I want it all. I also want to know how much "it all" is gonna cost me because the time has come.

I'm Grainne and I am a self-confessed flakey Arts student.
I'm going to travel the world and try to find myself.
All donations and life advice accepted.