Living Without Cheese

The panic attacks are now hitting every 2.7 days. But I’m becoming numb to them. I have learned to just ignore them, and pretend I’m not going to be on my own in a foreign country in 2 weeks, with nothing but a face full of freckles and an overstuffed backpack. It’s the little things that worry me. An unfamiliar currency, weird asian squat toilet culture, looking like an chubby freckled eejit in the midst of throngs of bronzed beach bunnies. Stuff like anti government demonstrations, avian flu, landmines and tourist attacks isn’t causing me any worry at all. Funny old brain.

I’m in the process of packing up my stuff to send home for the year. Parents are just brilliant. The poor things have to deal with a room full of my crap for the year while I’m away “experiencing stuff”. Travelling is really the most selfish thing you can ever do. But I never said I was nice.

 This is my last week in work and I am excited. I’ve been working in such an anal environment for 3 years now; what’s going to happen to me when I leave? I’ve become so institionalised! How will I cope with not having my 10.25am breakfast break for 20 minutes and my 1.30pm break for 30 minutes followed by the obligatory trek back to the office peppered with anti-company invective from my workmates? My 3pm cup of coffee? My 4pm stroll to the vending machine? What will I do without someone yelling for deadlines to be met, reports to be approved, forms to be filled? I love hating the place. What am I going to fill my manager mental bashing time with? But not to worry. Surely the place can’t keep on going without me and will be closed within months of my departure.

In other news, today I bought one of those headlamp gizmos, a compass, a pair of binoculars, a tiny maglite, a tinier pink travel towel, a packet of cigarettes (bad girl, bad girl), a red strap (I’m not sure what it’s meant to do, but it’s red and only cost E1.49 and just looks like somehow, someday, I will find a use for it. In fact, I will make it my business to find a different use for it in every country I visit.), a little shiny blue camera, a pair of candlesticks (they’re not coming with me), a block of cheese and a box of almond magnums. That’s proper shopping.

So, yeah, the headlamp. I had to put it on straight away, and man did I prance around the living room. Many self photos were taken.

“Aoife peering into a cave”

“Aoife discovers an even darker cave under the coffee table”

“Aoife sets LCD light to Party Flicker and raves”

Then I (don’t laugh) attached my compass to my red strap and hung it around my neck. Then I decided to attach my maglite to the red strap as well. Then I figured the binoculars needed a test drive. All while wearing my headlamp. So I focussed and focussed and got a good insight into what my neighbours get up to on a Saturday evening. My eyes, they burn. If one of them had turned around they would have seen a little curly haired girl wearing a headlamp with a red strap around her neck with various appendages attached to it staring at them through a pair of binoculars. Then I started to test out my new camera. Flash or no flash. Flash or no flash. No flash is best. Especially when you’re taking photos (of the sunset I swear) in the direction of the aforementioned neighbours house. I feel I am trying their patience.

So things are coming along quite well. Most things are sorted or semi sorted. I haven’t had any luck in selling my car so it’s going home with my parents at the weekend and they’re going to try and find a buyer for it when I leave. There’s a guy coming to check out my room tomorrow. I have most of my flights booked, I just need to book a cheapie one from Bangkok to Malaysia to provide proof that I’ll be leaving the country before 30 days so they’ll let me into Thailand and I need to get insurance and my visa for New Zealand and that’s pretty much it.

And in two weeks I shall unleash my flashing LED self onto the peoples of Asia and my neighbours can finally enjoy their Saturday evenings in without fearing mild amateur paparazzo stalkage. That’s a win-win right there.

I sat in the waiting room for 40 minutes reading an article about buying yachts in the February 2008 edition of “Country Life”. What a strange choice of magazine. My village in the South West of Ireland bears no resemblance to the Hamptons. It’s a nice village, but it’s not wealthy. We have a post office and a local shop. Most of the people here have normal humble lives. They work Monday to Friday, go for a few pints in the local at the weekend, go to Mass on a Saturday evening, and a package holiday to a beach resort in Spain once a year. Not a yacht in sight. At a stretch they might rent out a paddle boat while on holidays. Why on earth would the receptionist at the doctors put a magazine about buying yachts and mansions in East Sussex in the waiting room? Truly bizarre.

Anyway. The reason I went to my doctors was to get my travel shots. She stuck me full of Hepatitis A, Polio, Tetanus, Rabies, Diptheria and Typhoid antigens. I feel like a bit like a farm animal, getting jabbed all over my body. Whenever I have to get a shot, or when blood is taken, I look. I have to see what’s going on. I stare. It puts the doctor off sometimes.

 “Quit staring at me.”

“I’m not staring at you. I’m staring at the needle.”

“Well just stop it.”

 But I keep staring. I think that it’s better to know what’s happening. Looking away just heightens the unpleasant thrill that comes before a needle is forced into your arm. My doctor said I was “hard as nails”. I’m not. I just don’t like painful surprises. “So. How’s work?”

“Ah grand. You know yourself, working awayyYYY OWWWWWW! What the f&*$?!”

“Now. All done. You can pull your sleeve down.”

“I hate you.”

It’s just better to know what’s coming.

People say to me "You're so lucky to be going travelling.I wish I was that lucky." Sometimes I reply "Yeah! I know!" but mostly it's "Luck?! Where does luck come into it? You save your money, book the flight, and ... [Continue reading this entry]