Well, off on the job search again. Staying well away from food if I can help it in any possible way.
I have that list of companies to call – dammit, I wish we had a real, live, fully-functioning phone. Not the fucking parody of an intercom that we do.
I’m now in Montjoy Square where I’ve temporarily ended up on my big search for a quiet pay phone where I can make ninety-or-so phone calls with my bulging pocket change without eliciting too much attention.
I just hate calling people cold. But really, why should I? Well, I know why. The changes are high of being denied. And I hate even the thought of rejection. It’s so much worse than when it’s voice to voice than when it’s text to eye or by word of mouth. Hearing that voice tell you “no” is so immediate and personal and intimate.
Maeve and Keira graduate today, something like 5 WEEKS after their exams! What a weird system!
What I really hope more than anything is that when I go check my email in the internet shack that Gregg will have emailed me back telling me about some fabulous contact he has and the Abbey will have ushered my message to the person on top and they will want me to tear tickets. To spare me of this telephone ordeal.
What I’d really like to do is go bus down to Cork, spend the day, catch the ferry to France, train it down to Italy, spending a day in Paris, Nice and Toulouse, and see Florence and Rome and Venice. Fabio says Venice and Florence are “like a dream”. But Friday I have to go back to the Social Welfare Office to collect my PPS # and the form says I need to bring my employer’s PAYE #. So I really need an employer by Thursday, I suppose. It’s a good thing the Beanery was the sketchiest place on earth and paid me illegally – otherwise that paperwork would have been a hassle.
Yesterday went to a Gaelic Football game at Croke Park. It cost £10 to stand on the terrace, known as “The Hill”. It is a quick, funny little game that lasts only 70 minutes and looks like a cross between volleyball, basketball, soccer and football. Probably some rugby thrown in there as well. It was Meath against Kildare (Declan’s home team) and Meath pretty much kicked the crap out of Kildare, even though at one point they were actually leading by a point. Kildare handled the football better, and had possession for a greater percentage of the time, but they couldn’t score to save their lives, and when Meath had it they used it well.
Brings home the point that no matter where I am, no matter what bizarre and esoteric rules may be in play, I simply do not find sports interesting. Fine to play, but not very exciting to watch. I just don’t get riled to the point that I want to yell and grab my head and get red in the face.
Oh, also hampering my enjoyment of the event was my placement behind the most offensively smelly young man on the entire island. Made me feel faint.