I slept until 11.15 this morning, I'm in Limerick.
Since losing my job I haven't stayed in the bed past 9.30. Call it my zeal to seek re-employment, call it my internet addiction, call it that first mug of Strength 5 Café Direct coffee, call it what you want but I can't sleep in when I'm in Dublin.
There's too much to the days up there, and I don't have my da in the flat ushering more whiskey down my throat and serving me up onion bhajis at midnight.
I don't have my mam's cheesy chicken and scallop potatoes.
Instead I have a slightly lumpy mattress and neighbours that whoop and holler to the strains of Jamie T at 3 in the fucking morning.
Someone remind me why I'm heading back up this evening...
6 comments:
Maybe you're going back because at long last your parents have managed to get the message across that they are fed up fending to your every whim!! Spoilt rotten, you are.
Fending to my every whim? Tending, Maimie, tending. Let this be a lesson to you.
Cos you've nothing else to do?
At least you've somewhere to go, I'm bored out of me tits.
Pint? There's fuck all else, really.
To visit Fr. Pat Noise. Naturally.
Because Dublin is a drug Radge.
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