in the dead of night on the autobahn with the long ago on the radio

I have found myself mired in a rather formidable rut so far this year, and when that happens my first instinct is to run. However, as I'm finding it more and more difficult to justify pulling up stakes, my new outlet is to plan vacations that I may or may not actually take once I've finally saved up the money (ha).

Anyway, today at work I mapped out two rather extravagant and hopelessly foot-tickling possible holidays.

Trip #1: Split, Budapest, Vienna, Prague
Trip #2: South of France, Barcelona, Morocco

Either would have to be about 10 days long with travel, I think, and therefore would involve expense that--while not bank-breaking--would not be negligible. I am almost 30 and a professional and therefore feel well past the point in my life where I am willing to stay at a hostel. So save away I must, I know not for how long.

I am leaning a bit more towards Trip #1, as it would certainly be less expensive and the distances between all points (other than to Split) are only a few hours by train. I might be overstretching things with Trip #2 anyway, as it's a pretty hefty trek from Barcelona to Morocco (and not one that's logistically pretty).

Anyway, puttering around researching airfares and activities is what's keeping me somewhat sane at the moment. Although who knows what might happen - I could spend all that time saving up for the trip, only to spend it on another flight of fancy.

*Sigh*

Oh and also I think it's kind of funnybutmaybealittleirritating that people at work are HORRIFIED that I'm planning on taking this trip alone. Honestly, though, I am way too a) impulsive, b) cranky when hungry/tired/overstretched, and c) self-absorbed to do 10 days anywhere with anyone. I'll probably see if my friends on the other side of the ocean want to come play for the weekend wherever I may be, but I have taken quite a few trips on my own and I don't mind admitting that I relish the freedom and lightness of it. I mean, not to get all Moleskine about it, but there's a reason why people travel when they want to sort out their heads.

think of it this way - you could either be successful or be us

An equation that just about sums it up would go something along the lines of:

Get Me Away From Here I'm Dying - Doing the Unstuck = This Must Be the Place

this land was always ours, was the proud land of our fathers

I think my favorite part of St Patrick's Day (observed) is the quiet dignity of the celebration. The green Dr Seuss hats, people swearing, "WOOO!!!"-ing, and occasionally puking or urinating outside my house.

Bah O'Humbug.

Of course I, too, was once 20 and ridiculous (believe it or NOT!). I spent that final youthful SPD in Dublin, staggering around Temple Bar in bright green eyeshadow, singing Pogues songs and drinking whisky. I was flashed by a young man wearing a kilt, threatened at knifepoint by a rather frightening gentleman, and nearly flattened by a double-decker bus. All in all, fun times, but not ones I'd necessarily like to relive vicariously through the people swearing loudly on the street below.

Honestly, I don't mean to be shaking my fist all curmudgeonly over the kids having a bit of fun on an unseasonably gorgeous Saturday in March. And I know this riffraff comes with the territory of living in the East End (as I quickly learned my first night in my apartment when a young gentleman belted out a Journey medley below my window). Yet I can't help but wonder when it became acceptable to be a total douchebag in public.

Ooh, I smell garlic bread.

Anyway, I'll be heading out this evening (against my better judgement). C & A invited me to join them at Solera, and I figure an evening at the wine bar can't help but be civilized, even on SPD.

And, just so I feel like I'm not totally foresaking my Irish heritage, here's some music to drink by. Sláinte!

loosen my lips

I've been meaning to write - truly I have - but as soon as I stand on the edge of that precipice I find myself at a loss for words. How does one catch up after 2 years away?

Well I'm not even going to bother recapping what's happened since my trip to Montreal all that time ago. Most of it was spent in a relationship that didn't quite work out, and nothing pivotal happened apart from that.

So now what?

Twitter has reconfirmed my hunch that I have thoughts I'm eager to share. I've been trying not to be too terribly mundane, but it serves as a daily reminder that I should do and/or learn something worth tweeting. Plus, I can't help but have my fangirlish head 'asplode when I see Stephen Fry, John Hodgman, Bill Corbett, and Neil Gaiman all tweeting away at each other.

I re-read these clockworkbird entries while doing laundry at my parents' house this afternoon and it made me slightly sad that I hadn't chronicled the past year and a half. I have a horrifically spotty memory, so I need things like blogs to remind me what the heck I was thinking.

Anyhoodle (should I be impressed or concerned that my MacBook does not spellcheck the word "anyhoodle"??), non sum qualis eram. Things can only get better.