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[Mar. 23rd, 2004|11:36 am] |
Does traditional Irish music make anyone one else panic? That bloody fiddle makes me think something's on fire somewhere, or something.
Learning tarditional Irish dancing. Ironic, as I used to scoff at the primadonna adolescents who trotted away at school talent shows in their little green gear and stupid brace-wearing grins. I must say, though, it is quite fun thing in which to engage oneself. Definitely better than tango, if you're full of angst. You just sorta hop around. Angst begone.
The Most Haunted House in Kerry is just down the road, in Ballyduff, and I'm playing with the notion of camping out there one night in order to render myself even more anxiety and for no apparent benifit or reason, as ghosts definitely don't exist. Funny how one can be petrified of nothing. I'm like a bloody teenager. "ooh, wouldn't it be real cool if I scared myself shitless?"
I'm still a big looser, but I'm seeing a teeny tiny spec of light at the end of this proverbial tunnel. It's probably a cop. With a flashlight. He's gonna tell me to go home. I probably should. |
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