bookshoplaura

I have been having one of those weeks where I have been meaning to blog but somehow haven't quite gotten around to it. I even had things worth writing about like a fantastic comedy night I went to in Downes pub and a great drama workshop for kids I got to sit in on Wednesday night but after working nights last weekend and being back in college as a pa took its tole on me and I was just too tired to get a blog together. Then I discovered that I don't always get called when I get new hours and I should really be keeping an eye on my online roster. That way I wouldn't have discovered Thursday afternoon while at training in Kilkenny that I was down to work nights Thursday and Friday night.  I am not sure how I would have prepared better for working Thursday night if I'd known in advance but I possibly would have made sure to get more sleep the night before so I wouldn't have gone stumbling in tired and full of coffee. It's funny how in a matter of weeks I have g

As anyone with a social media account knows there are more than enough people complaining about how terrible everything is but I am of the opinion that there is enough negativity in the world, especially in the small corner of the world that I inhabit (Waterford City) that I have decided to try my utmost not to add to it. Yes we're all broke and sometimes bored and so on but there's plenty to see and do in this city without breaking the bank. One excellent example of this is the open mic night that Central arts have started running on Monday once a month. For just €2 you can have a lovely cup of tea or coffee with a bickie and then sit yourself down to be wowed by more talent than you could shake a stick at (if you were so inclined). I am slowly realising that Waterford as a county is absolutely brimming with talent and you can barely walk two steps without meeting someone who is going to wow you in some way or another. If you would like to see how many talented people it i

Anyone who has been keeping up with my blog knows what an eventful midterm I have had but there's only so many blog posts I can write on how exhausted I am and how I have pretty much forgotten what a day off feels like. I declined the offer of work for Saturday night because I had plans to go to a gig with the boyfriend and thought it would be nice to have some time off. I somehow got roped into doing a few hours Sunday which kind of undone that. Saturday itself was a bit of a wash out in that I got home from work shortly before 8 am and fell asleep for four hours, I had been hoping for more sleep but I am still adjusting to the different shifts and my scumbag body was feeling rather non compliant.  I did get up and go out for a bit but sleep deprivation gave me the attention span of a goldfish and a tendency to space out in the middle of my own sentences so it wasn't long before I needed to go home and rest before the all ages gig in Central arts. They had a really good li

Last night I  had the great privilege of sitting down with Danny Kidney, Paul Dower and Stephen Mullally. After my piece on the Humans of the Deise exhibition was so warmly received, Danny approached me and asked me would I be willing to meet with them for a chat. Somehow I managed to misunderstand the fact that I was supposed be interviewing them for my blog and turned up woefully unprepared. Mind you I have never actually interviewed anyone before so I probably wouldn't have done much better if I had gone to the trouble of preparing questions.  I'm going to work on the assumption that you don't know who these men are or what they have done to improve Waterford city and then I am going to be really sound and fill you in.  Danny Kidney is a fantastic photographer and is responsible for Humans of the Deise, a photographic project where he singles out the ordinary folk that make Waterford special. Everyone looks forward to seeing who will be featured next and there'

This will be my third weekend in a row off. Normally that would be very exciting but seeing as I no longer work in retail that will be a regular occurrence until I start to get relief work. For now though I am enjoying the feeling of freedom and I have already gotten accustomed to lazy Sundays. I don't have to tell you that they are a million times nicer than Sundays working in the bookshop but they really are. I had a lovely lie in this morning and then got up to make pancakes for me and pancakes with bacon bits for himself ( if a vegetarian cooking meat for her boyfriend isn't love then I don't know what is) and after showering I decided the best plan of action was to get back into bed and watch some comedy. An hour later I dragged myself out and made myself look like a human before we headed out.  We treated ourselves to lunch at Momo. I've only been once since I started the new job and I was thinking they probably missed seeing me in there. I'm pretty sound

Last night my Boyfriend and I went a long to the Humans of the Deise exhibition. I wont tell you a big long story about me being reluctant to go out and him persuading me but I will say I was wrapped up in a fluffy blanket until I absolutely had to leave. Humans of the Deise, for those of you not familiar with it. is a concept inspired by the renowned Humans of New York, Except set in the Deise (Waterford city and county). The photographer responsible for this project, Danny Kidney, takes candid pictures of ordinary Waterford people and does it so naturally that for the most part you would think they had no idea the photo was being taken. He has been sharing the photos on his Facebook page - humans of the Deise- and each one has a little snippet that gives you an insight into the different characters that are featured. For me that is my favourite part. Everyone gets a look in from up and coming local band Crome yellow to local man about town Michael better known to all as 'How d

A girl without a book A girl without a book is lost, baseless, feels like something is missing and not these half thumbed paperbacks that litter every surface. Without a book I am empty, lifeless, teetering on the edge of worry; napping, chocolate eating. Me without a book is worrying, a happy Laura always reads, not sure if the lack of books is to blame or my own inattentive mind. A girl without a book is faceless, hard to know who I am without knowing what I read and why I do not. A girl without a book is a problem ready for solving, waiting to  be rescued by one dazzling, gripping read. A girl without a book is me. So it wouldn't be fair to say I am not reading at all. That never really happens, I even managed to keep reading when I lived in Switzerland that year and the selection of English language books was appalling. I have however come to a bit of a standstill where I have a stack of books sitting on my shelf but there's not one I

Bravery I know a lot about being brave. I have talked about it for days and days. I have felt my heart thumping heavily in my chest, a feeling like I will be sick, my palms slippery with sweat. But bravery is not in feeling fear, it is acting despite it. walking forward when all you want to do is run. Facing up to yourself, walking into work with your head held high. Spewing forth words that belay my feelings and letting them be judged in the silence that sits in my throat.

New Year Days fall into daily frustration and I promised myself I wouldn't be the one scrawling New Year's resolutions onto napkins. This will be the year of me, this year ends and I am making so many plans to be different as though this was a novel idea. Let's be fitter and somehow richer, let's go out more, turn my life around and not just make dents in my couch as I wait to be discovered. This will be a New Year, you'd swear this wasn't my 32nd one of these as I am feeling as optimistic as a kitten, half blind to the truth. This year may well be the same as last, I might well blur into insignificance. if I don't change something, I can't expect different results, I will just slowly go insane. Or my changes might not be as slow, it's easier to just stay here, away from big scary world and frighten myself with the what ifs and prophecies of doom. Is this the year I will be a better version of myself? I certainl

First sip With the first sip my mind slowly unfurls and I feel a knot inside me melting, heading into work with a bounce instead of a crawl to my walk. Warmth on my lips, my mind jolts from it's state of hibernation and I smile like it's a secret only I know. And then there are other mornings, where I wake cranky, a nagging pain in my head and a longing for something to take the edge off. Maybe I shouldn't have a coffee today, I ponder, ultimately deciding, today wont be the day. I am too sleepy, too cranky and I can feel its gentle lure already, before I utter the words, the sweetest sounds, one coffee to, please,

Fade to black When the lights fade to black and I am left only with the shadow of myself and a sense of disenchantment. One day ends and another begins as though I am a wheel that will not stop spinning. Not sure if my unhappiness is self told but only knowing it's as real as the stale taste I wake with in my mouth. Bits of dreams filter into my morning and I look longingly towards my bed covers, wishing to nestle beneath them and hide for the day.

On what it means to be a woman Is it really not appropriate to describe myself as a 32 year old girl, really the label feels more fitting, when exactly do the lines get blurred. Should I behave differently in recognition of this more suitable term for a person of my age. Is innocence lost completely, should all vestiges of those more gentle days already be long departed. What it really means to be a woman? you should probably ask someone more qualified than I, for times I feel more like a teenager trapped in a grown woman's body, still bubbling with the same anxieties and insecurities. Maybe I'll secretly refer to myself as a girl instead.

Ras The crowd surges forward, all moving to the same beat, not seeking anything more ominous than dance. Music vibrates through my seat and I feel it pulsing in my cheek, in my hair and somehow I think I am pulsing too. He preaches the religion of Dub Reggae, yet in music the words melt into each other and I  can only nod as though I understand. Happy to sit on the edge, Watching a throbbing crowd dance as if on cue, wondering if drinking in atmosphere is really a thing. Or if music I can't really describe should make me this happy, this upbeat. Surrendering to the night that's in it as this musical odyssey draws to a close. Unsure if dub reggae is something I can really do justice to  with mere words but I can say with clarity that I like it. Even if it's just as a woman, watching, waiting, not quite participating. 

How to be a stranger If you're the girl wearing a cashmere jumper because it feels so soft and cosy against your skin when everyone else is dressed for a night on the town then you might be doing it right. If everyone around you is having celebratory drinks while you slug from a bottle of water, wanting to keep a clear head and clearer skin. If everyone else is enjoying the music, dancing along, and you're frantically scribbling into a note book, allowing the beats to be your backdrop, the blank canvas onto which you splatter your thoughts. If your world within is sometimes more colourful than the one outside, you feel its okay to retreat. Then who's to say what's strange, everyone finds their own normal, their own baseline, and perhaps I'm not really strange here just a stranger.

How to quieten a mind How do you silence the dialogue within, the endless chatter, the judgements I almost blurt out, the mental spillage that goes on and on. How do I stay in the now when I am always absorbed in a troublesome past or an uncertain future. How do I be anything other than what I am. How do I calm the frantic woman within. Twenty two habits of negative people and here I am ticking almost every box, guilty as charged. How do you change a mind that's set in its ways, patterns ingrained. How do I silence my mind, my thoughts, my judgements on myself and others. How do I be myself when I hardly know how to be.

Dead bird Ceramic carcasses dance ludicrously inside my head And I crush your skeleton , little dead bird that never lived. I shed no tears for your mediocre minutes Of half felt life. And no remorse comes As I observe your crushed form Upon the black, black sea. Little dead bird, I will allow you the luxury Of living within me. I shall nestle your Fractured form within my chest And warm you with the dampened beat of my heart. I shall lie for hours imagining Your ceramic bird song And I will dream of the tears That I will never cry for your swift passing. Worship your sacrifice in the name of art, And not think of all the other things you could have been. I sip tepidly from a ceramic mug which Feels eerily like you, In a land of other possibilities. And as it goes crashing to the ground, Shattering into tiny pieces, I collapse and sob for the mug that was never you. O little dead bird, Why do you lie so still, So solemn. Your pointed beak taunts me endlessly. I withd

Anticipation I sit beating time Yet time still crawls past And I get tired of listening to incessant exhaling. I don’t move from this spot But on the inside I flutter and dance about the room, Hearing songs from yesterdays radio. Bravely I push myself places I thought id never go. I reassure myself silently But my coiled, tense form is on display For those who care to look. I hear shouting in the kitchen And I feel glad that I’m locked safely in my room. I watch the clock as though this will hurry time. I know soon I can escape even just for a portion of the night. I want to learn so many things, Not in segments but all together And go so many places. Experience the world in just a day And still I sit winking at my own reflection Until I rise and delve in to the night.

Blacker than the darkest night cant stop this time, running till my heart beats from my chest i feel  nauseous and  awake  and sinking back to that deep and dirty place where dreams feel like memories and i am myself, naked , unadorned don't need to look to see how my flesh ripples beneath my touch consumed by a hatred so deep  that it leaves nail marks upon my arms like battle scars , once faded i am but a girl, once full of life  now jaded

DEAD GULL Oh dead gull you tattoo yourself upon my iris. Your bony carcass melts into the rocks leaving only the cloying stench of death. Your feathers go bathing in the vicious sea Which greedily brought you to your death And I look now upon your matted remains And bony form. I feel I should weep for the life ripped from Your wings, as others soar above you In blissful ignorance. Your eye is long rotted, Leaving me gaping into a hauntingly open socket, Pondering your gull like soul. Your beak opened inviting sand Into hidden crevices, Soon even this brittle shell will be lost to the sea. And I sit watching, waiting for you to rise and soar. And the sea laps at my feet in a silent warning

Devil Hangover Cold blue walls suffocate me As my head thumps rhythmically to the soothing beats And I drift further into Oblivion, Drowning my waking thoughts. I see nothing , only endless space , My face crawls into a positive frown. My deep, dark ponderings are cast into stilted air As you shake me from my lurid daydream. The noise it leaks through my thoughts And coats itself stickily upon the walls. And I lie screaming silently but I sit huddled, Losing myself, finding myself and death falls like night. I fall deeper in love with poetic mysteries which defy the spoken word. And I’m sure I had a dream about this in another once upon a time. but I sit here not waking, not sleeping, not living , just falling deeper into myself.

Exploration Night time can be a dark and dreary time. A bell rings and my inner demons come calling. A sugar rush backwards through my veins, An easter bunny lies guiltily half eaten. A tale that almost tells itself. I shy from confrontation. The light stays on and so I avoid myself. Wish myself already asleep with whispered protestations. Can you see me now ? I see nothing but my own twisted self image. I know where my worries lie. I am well practised in the art of procrastination. Tomorrow is always another day, Yesterdays tasks lie un-ticked and pressure builds. I wait to be suffocated by own inactivity Or puke with panic flashing in my eyes

Here I lie . . . . Here I lie , upon my bed Or with my words. No one really cares what webs I weave. In the end I fool only myself with the subtlest deception. Cut open, I bleed feelings for everyone to see, A gushing river of vulnerability. I am out there and yet I am nowhere. Too busy pondering myself to really see the world. Truth tickles my throat and I cough until I bleed Or at least that’s how it feels when every Emotion takes on soap opera proportions. I jump , not checking if anyone is there to catch me, Not sure if I want to stop falling, unseen. I lie and the world lies with me

Hold me now Hold me now I think I’m gonna be sick. My nails beat grooves in my palms And my eyes water dangerously. It goes on and on And I nod praying, Praying for it to end. I go tumbling down the black spiral Vomiting my regrets away. I feel as though I’m doing nothing right. I feel bad and useless. I grow angry looking at my damp, red face. My eyes glow eerily, A deep, deep blue. I’m hoping, wishing, praying That my voice will have a less sombre note When this black contraption we call phone Rings again. Oh mother dear , you need not hear me crying Another time , if there is another time Will I be crawling home soon I wonder.

I watch the world I watch the world with closed eyes, Seeing only the darkness within. Aching to be myself, showing every face but my own, Pleasing no one. Too tired to wipe myself away and I just sink into sadness, Easily. My familiar place . Words just wallow in my mind, Twisting the knife. I come home to myself alone . I wish upon stars like a child with long forgotten dreams. Wishing the blackness away, my face hovers above the sorrow stained pillow, denying sleep. I sicken for something, just beyond my grasp, in the shadows. Don’t want to live this way. Leave my baggage at the emotional lost and found. It clings to me like a second skin. Without this darkness I could never know joy and I only wish to know myself

Lets go back to black I feel myself crumble in the dark, Cant live up to my own expectations and yet I expect little. Fearing disappointment I set my sights low . Here I discover an explored crevice in my soul. Don’t take time out for deep reflection , It leads to other things Threads of my mind id rather not follow For I already know where the trail ends. Close my eyes and see tomorrow looming Like a cloud over a wasted day . So I reach out to tame my hangover blues But I chase myself away. I explore the bruises that only I can see, Tender skin reveals me. I shudder beneath the sweetest kind of pain. One hand clings to the comfort of old scars , Waiting to be revisited , I move on but I never go away, And there it lurks in the shadows, A darker side of me , A guilty indulgence . On the outside I’m smiling But I know I can always go back to black 

LIR Lonely, they sang Music Fit for a faery queen. Trapped beneath the feathers Lie children Growing old. Time rolls past One lake becomes another isle. The swan children cry Deep in their hearts For a stolen youth. Their feathers tinged With bitter grey And sorrow For the land they used To know. Nine hundred years Dragged off their backs Like oil, stubborn. It is for them the bell tolls, The swan children Turn home. Swapping feathers For skin And skin For ashes.

Me, myself and I My mind opens like a flower and yet My body begs for sleep. I succumb to horticulture in a manner of speaking. Words spew from my unseeing lips , I can attach no meaning. And my eyes bleed into my wretched soul. You leave your indelible stamp upon me, I itch to remove it. In the distance my eyes call out for sleep, I am not yet done here , forced to turn the other cheek. I’ve seen some things which have rocked my fragile little world, Experienced bite size chunks of reality and I wish to regurgitate it In irritation, it leaves a foul taste in my mouth. My heart opens, I enclose it in tissues, Desperate to hide it, unable to undo the damage And the love which is long lost now weeps. Photographs flicker in my mind like silent movies played wrong But strangely I see no plot and I close my eyes in hopes to banish it. Fires of damnation edge closer, my skin is singed and blistered, red and swollen. Years too late I mindlessly repent. And thoughts cascade o

Melancholy I ooze slowly through my pores like an eggy smell. And I lie dried from another nights excesses. Sleeping, no beauty, just hung-over, Wishing the night sounds away as I choke on the foul air. I think I saw a smile somewhere beneath the lazy covering of tears, But I can’t be sure. My eyes sting tiredly and I long to retch most foully. So I close my eyes to another nights capers. Childish mutterings remembered bring a reddish tint to my cheeks. No one is silent in this building of hollow stone, the clock’s ticking beats It’s way through my silent reverie. My head tightens and lips run dryly together. I dissolve myself in designer bottled water. And sleep through another week, Opening my eyes, surprised I have jumped through so many days unwatched.

MERRY GO ROUND The horse is held in paused air And I hold my breath. It’s flawed self flows on The endless merry go round Stopping only for death. I feel I am this plastic horse, Beneath the gaudy painted shell, Yet bound and dancing ,dancing. It’s eyes do not flicker But mine are weeping caustic tears And the plastic’s melting. I fall out ,naked , frightened To gaze into the winking eye of neverness. And I stand watching myself , Trapped inside a plastic horse, Scratching the surface of my dreams But I am bound dancing, dancing

My naked body Here I lie , Hairs standing tall like soldiers On this goose pimpled terrain. All flesh and lightly coloured hairs. I am naked. My legs hang awkwardly , I am displeased. Lend me heels to lengthen them I beg. Let me cover my knees. My request denied , I lie naked. I plead modesty , No one listens. Let me not expose me breasts, This I whisper. As shyness creeps over me, Filling my face with a reddened glow. And quickly I blacken every mirror. For if I must lie naked , I beg of you, let me not see.

Pillows Tousled pillows stroke my battered heart And hold my forbidden dreams. Creased where once I lay , it reveals me. I turn away so I don’t feel the past. Pillows float like clouds and legless sheep, another manic dream, I awake, sweating coldly into a pillow. Pillows, suffocating infant faces, a silent killer, I weep. Pillows, you solemnly nod. I dream of pillows whilst I sleep. And these shrouds of cotton encase me , they lie saturated with my tears, burying my midnight secrets. You look , you can never imagine. For all you see is pillows.