Comments

I hate to do this, but I am going to turn on the verification system to this blog.

Last night, something like seven spam comments were added, and deleting them is starting to annoy.

I know it makes life awkward to post comments sometimes, but I cannot see any other way of organising it.

Finally, people should feel free to get a blogger account so that their comments are no longer anonymous.

My Poor Brain

The human mind is a strange beast. Just when I think I have it figured out, it produces behaviour which completely stumps me.

For the last few days, I have not been myself. Unhappy, moody, foul-tempered, tired and troubled, I think the events of the last month or two finally caught up with me.

In my infinite wisdom, I have spent the past month or so trying to finish my PhD dissertation and the research work thus associated, move into my new apartment and make it livable, teach two new courses in DIT and see a certain Flaming Redhead.

It has been a busy time, but being a man, I refused to accept that this was stressful. Suppressing my worries and concerns, it all made its way to the surface this week. At around 0100 on Friday morning last, everything exploded to the surface and I had a freak-out.

At one point during the aftermath, I thought it may have been a panic attack, but it did not bring on any of the usual symptoms.

That said, using "la puissance de le Wikipedia":

A panic attack is a period of intense fear or discomfort, typically with an abrupt onset and usually lasting no more than thirty minutes. Symptoms include trembling, shortness of breath, heart palpitations, sweating, nausea, dizziness, hyperventilation, paresthesias (tingling sensations), and sensations of choking or smothering. The disorder is strikingly different from other types of anxiety, in that panic attacks are very sudden, appear to be unprovoked, and are often disabling.

I definitely remember the trembling and the paresthesias, but nothing else. I was not debilitated in the aftermath. I literally sat at this desk, did not move for a while, and my brain completely freaked out. It was a bit scary at the time, but once it passed I was fine. I figured it was probably a good idea to go home.

Of course, the NiteLink home precipitated another adventure, but that is a story for another time.

For those of you out there who are worried about me, please do not be. I am fine. If I am honest, it is the consequences of stupid bravado: "Mick Cooney does not get stressed, so Brain, you shall suppress everything", etc.

I have not been myself over the last while though. Little things were really starting to bother me, my routine is all over the place, and I have not played any football in about two months (apart from one game at the beginning of October when Spartak were badly stuck for players - I was horrifically out of shape, but played okay).

I think the root cause of all of this is my PhD. Uncertainty is a killer, and the feedback from my supervisor has been minimal over the last few years. He now works for IBM and has not been around. It has been tough. No-one else in the Maths Department knows anything about what I do, so I was left to my own devices.

Thus, it is possible that all my work is a complete piece of shit. Once I submit, you go through a viva, and are examined by an Internal Examiner (an academic member of staff from within the institution), and an External Examiner (an academic member of staff from outside the institution). The theory is that you defend your thesis from questions they ask. In practice, at least in Trinity, you talk about your work and the Examiners determine if you know what you talk about.

I am in the fortunate position of knowing what I am talking about, but I do not know if anything I have developed is any good. The work has to be original, and only a certain amount of my work is. I have no idea if the amount of original work I have done is in any way sufficient to grant a PhD.

This is not a good place for the mind to be in.

I have been at this for six years now. It really is a disgraceful amount of time to take, but circumstance has been against me. I have been doing others things, productive things, but nothing conducive to getting some letters after my name.

Compounding my anxiety was the fact that my one truly original piece of work did not work. At all. Miraculously, this changed last night. To be fair, it still is far from perfect, but it is getting results that vague approximate what is to be expected, and that is good for me.

The excitement I felt was strange. Hope mixed with fear in equal quantities as I re-ran the simulation and found that it was actually giving data. To say my mood lifted cannot capture exactly what happened next.

Suddenly I was no longer jaded, and actually came into the office today with a vague sense of excitement. I have not felt that way about my work for a long, long time.

Of course, the initial adrenaline rush subsided as I left the office late to go meet friends. They went to Hogan's shortly after I met them. As always, it was thronged with people. My fatigue and lack of party spirit brought my hatred and contempt of people to the fore. I am rereading Transmetropolitan (a comic series by Warren Ellis about a gonzo journalist in the near future) in my downtime, so I empathised with the misanthropic protagonist, Spider Jerusalem.

Tragically lacking a bowel disruptor (fans will understand), I decided the most prudent course of action was simply to go home.

I submit soon.

Wikipedia

Wikipedia is one of the best websites on the Internet. Free for anyone to contribute articles, I spend far too much time reading it.

Reading Wikipedia can cause trouble. Last week the Flaming Redhead got in touch at a bad time, and was confused as to why I spent the first three minutes of the IM conversation talking about the fact that some of the victims of the Lockerbie Disaster were alive and conscious while falling to the ground.

How did I get onto that article?

Bill Hicks.

One of his routines talks about the Waco Siege, which led me to Timothy McVeigh and the Oklahoma Bombing (McVeigh gave vengeance on the federal government for Waco as his motive for the bombing), this led me to terrorist attacks on the US, which led to Lockerbie (the worst terrorist attack on the US behind the WTC attacks in 2001).

I love Wikipedia.

I am going to read about Kerry Katona next.

The Mick Cooney Show

Something unexpected happened a few weeks ago. I tried to kiss a girl, and instead of pulling a can of Mace and pressing charges, she kissed me back.

Naturally, me being me, it did not take long for my inherent ineptness to take command. Indeed, the Chameleon or the Author would be quick to point out that it was in command before we hooked up.

I will not go into further details, other than quote the Chameleon on how we got together:

"Well Mick, you didn't so much have a bunch of wingmen as a complete fucking airshow!"

Since then, I have noticed a few things.

I should make it clear from the start that we are not a couple or anything. Yes, we are seeing each other a lot, but it is too early be thinking on those lines. We enjoy each others company, and I am willing to let things flow. I decided early on that I was going to ignore my usual habit of forcing things.

I am also aware that this article may be revealing things about her that she would rather remain private. Because of this, I am showing this to her in full before I post it, and give her full veto rights over anything in this. Thus, none of you need feel voyeuristic - she has given consent.

I honestly did the following with the first few days of hooking up with her:

• Puked violently into her toilet about thirty minutes after we kissed for the first time,
• Called her by her friend’s name while kissing her on the couch,
• Sent a text message about her that was intended for a friend to her by mistake,
• Sent her a message over MSN Messenger that looked like a psychotic rant.

The fact that we are still seeing each other can only be for one of two reasons: firstly, that her understanding nature is so strong that my clumsy ineptitude somehow inverts into an endearing charm. Secondly, perhaps I am just unbelievably sexy.

The reaction to the news across the gender divide was nothing short of profound. When talking to any of the girls, I get the Third Degree.

“Do you like her? Do you think she likes you? What have you done together? What are you doing together? Would you like to go out with her? Is she your girlfriend? Would you like her to be your girlfriend?”

With the lads, things are much simpler:

“How many points are you on now, Mick?”

Seeing a girl in Dublin is strange. While I went out with a girl for almost three years, she was never really in Dublin, apart from a few months as the relationship was coming to an end. As a result, I have been effectively single in Dublin since I started college over eleven years ago.

Having a girl to meet up with is very new for me. Being able to call up to her in the evening on a whim to relax and chill-out is new, different and cool. Of course, all this happens as I finish up my PhD, but I was ever the one to do things the hard way.

Most people who know me were aware of my desire for the simple intimacies. As my friends coupled up, they would curl up on the couch in front of the television, leaving me to sit there beside them feeling both voyeuristic and impoverished.

Should the above make me appear as either a big girlie-man or a needy stalker-in-the-making, I have done myself a disservice, yet I know not how else to articulate this.

For quite some time now, my female friends have tried to match me. Appalling at going out on the pull, and lacking the simple skills of icebreaking, the confidence to engage a strange girl in conversation in a way that will attract her eludes me.

Consequently, my raging bachelorhood has proved an irresistable challenge to any females I know platonically.

Their reaction was hilarious (and not just for the afore-mentioned interrogation). Most of the girls I know immediately demand to meet her. It is a mystery if this is pure curiosity or a female desire to vet the new girl.

All I do know is how touched I was by their reaction. They were like excited schoolgirls and took the first opportunity they had to tell me how much they approved of her. I was a little taken aback, since such a reaction could only mean these girls held me in high regard. It was both humbling and gratifying to learn.

The second-most stupid thing about all this is how I have changed in DIT (second-most because being so honest about a girl in a public forum, in an article which she will read before everyone else would win any competition you care to mention in the sport of What-Is-He-Thinking).

DIT Aungier Street is full of women. Naturally, this means there are numerous lookers. Usually, I wander the hall in a permanent state of hormone-induced frustration and guilt. They are students, I am a lecturer, and it is unethical.

This hasn’t happened so much now. Perhaps it is my reduced state of ‘tension’, but I think not. My feelings tend to be focused and narrow, and I think it is the fact that I am seeing someone. I am still not sure if this is a Good Thing™ or a Bad Thing™ in this case.

I suppose, such answers are unknowable until things pan out over the next while.

Being single in Dublin has its benefits. For eleven years now I have done whatever I want, and have never really needed to consider the desires of others. Never one to be overly selfish, I do not need to have things my own way, but I was certainly used to pleasing myself.

In many ways, I am similar to Hugh Grant’s character in About a Boy, living in my own little island, sole star of the Mick Cooney Show. Other people make guest appearances from time to time, but only one name appears during the opening credit sequence.

It may still be airing every night, but I sense a “Gee Whizz” episode coming over the near horizon.

My Place

[Note: This was written on Sunday night but I did not have the chance to post it until now. Apologies.]

It is probably important for me to state from this from the start: I do not particularly wish to write this entry. I am tired, I want to get up at a civilized time in the morning, and I would like to be in bed reading.

Instead, I am sitting on the three-seater couch, putting down my thoughts for posterity.

Tonight is my first night in Chez-Mick. Almost all the floors are down, this living room/kitchen and my bedroom are complete, and 271, Premier Square is now livable.

Quite a few things remain to be done: there are no electrical appliances yet, so I am still short a refrigerator; the second bedroom floor still has a small slither of flooring to be laid down; the hallway is not floored at all; the television, DVD, etc is still in Violet Hill Drive; and the coffee table has yet to be delivered. Despite all these shortcomings, a lot of stuff is here, so I figured “What the hell? Why not?”

Sitting on the couch, I am surprised by the almost complete lack of sound. The only thing I can really hear is the chattering of my laptop keyboard. There is another strange noise coming from the direction of the kitchenette, a low crackling sound indicative of small rodents, but as I am confident there are no mice or rats in here yet, I can only assume it is the sound of the suds slowly decaying on the recently-washed-and-as-yet-undried plates and cups.

I probably should go over and investigate, and I probably will. Being honest, I cannot be bothered and my instinct tells me the investigation can wait until this article has been written.

Despite my afore-mentioned reluctance, I feel it is important I get my feelings down in some form of concrete form. This is my first proper night as a home-owner and I would regret it if I simply decided that typing was too much effort.

I feel both overwhelmed and lonely. The idea of having to pay the mortgage every month is daunts. While I plan to rent the second room to help out, the onus to pay is on me. The money needs to be paid every month, a scary responsibility.

The detached, logical part of me explains that every person with a mortgage bears an identical responsibility every month, but the rest of me does not care. It is my first time in this business, so I suppose my feelings are natural.

The loneliness has surprised me more. I have always lived with people, and this place is empty, and will remain so for a few more weeks. Right now I yearn for human company of any sort, but there will be no succor tonight. I will go to bed soon.

In a few hours will be my first morning in Premier Square. My first lecture is at 1100 in DIT, so my alarm is set for 0900. I am hoping to wake earlier, but my body will probably betray me.

My family was amazing today. My father was wrecked by the evening-time, and I could not help but feel guilty by this. My father is very young to have a son at his age, but that does not assuage my guilt. He worked himself to a high level of fatigue, denying himself the day off he so desperately needs, because his son needed him too.

As for my mother, well, words cannot express her efforts. Anyone who wonders how love is displayed through action would do well to have wandered with her over the last few weeks. I think it is best summed up by the fact that she is delighted I am now a home-owner because it will now be easy to buy presents for me.

I feel incredibly indebted to both my parents, far beyond any financial one. I hope I can someday repay the financial debt they are owed, though I doubt I will ever get the chance to repay the other stuff they have done.

I am completely rambling now. I did not sit down on the couch intending to talk about my parents at all, but that is where my mind went.

Fatigue is really starting to grip so I am going to stop now.