I started my journey to Greywood Arts in Killeagh, Co. Cork, before 8am. I treated myself to a cab, which dropped me at Heuston Station with nearly 30 minutes to spare before my train to Cork City (leg 1 of my journey). Traveling without Mark makes me feel like a tourist without his Irish accent to validate my existence in this country. Once in my seat, I decided to get straight to work. I began to read the printout of journal entries, and started making notes and highlighting each section with different colours, based on whether I thought they were good to use, could be used with significant editing, or whether they needed to go. I noted where I needed to add details, and where I might talk about different developments along the way. I was a little paranoid that I'd somehow miss the stop at Mallow and forget to switch trains, so I stopped reading two stops ahead of Mallow. I made the switch without a bother, and before I knew it, I was in Cork.
I had an hour to kill in Cork, which was good because I wanted to pick up some conditioner and shampoo, which I did. But I nearly got on the wrong bus because there are two number 40 Expressway buses leaving the same bus station at roughly the same time, except one goes to Waterford and one goes to Tralee. I tried to get on the Tralee one because I didn't see the Waterford one -- I had even put my suitcase in the boot. But luckily the bus driver (who was much more confused than he should have been, all things considered) told me I needed the bus to Waterford, not Tralee. So I grabbed my suitcase and booked it to the opposite end of the platform area, only to bump into a guy who was standing next to the Waterford bus, trying to figure out how the heck he was supposed to get to Tralee. I told him about the other 40 bus, and he took off running. I think he literally got to the bus a second before it pulled out.
The bus ride was unremarkable. I ate a falafel wrap and a cookie. I thanked my lucky stars for technology as I tracked the bus location on my phone because the bus driver was not announcing the stops. I got off the bus, grabbed my suitcase, looked up, and there was the sign for Greywood. Jessica (a fellow US ex-pat from Connecticut) showed me around the place and omg Mark would be so jealous if he could see it. I have my very own room for writing that overlooks trees and a river. My bedroom is so lovely, too. Killeagh (pronounced Kill-AH, if anyone is wondering) village is also very cute.
I chatted with Jessica for a while and then I got to work. I finished reading my print-out, which was hard in bits because of the subject matter, obviously. I realised that it's been years since I re-read it all and some of it I don't even remember writing. Some of it I had forgotten had happened! And some of my descriptions of how I was feeling and what I was doing still resonated so strongly that I have to thank myself for having written so much down as it was happening.
But now that I've gone through everything and made these notes, it all feels much more manageable. I just have to sort out this beginning bit (aka the part that has been the stumbling block for the past 9 years - no big deal) and then I think I'll be flying.
There's just one kind of big problem. I think that the long train and bus ride has caused my Mal de Débarquement Syndrome to return. This is an issue I had after a trip to Italy in late 2017 that lasted for nearly 5 months where I felt like I was on a boat constantly. After working for a couple of hours at the table, I had to admit that the sensation of floating was creeping in. So I went and took a short walk and then I came back and made some dinner, after which I felt much better -- pretty much normal. But then it seems that when I sit back down and try to work, it comes back. Very frustrating. So I'm going to stop for the night, maybe go for a pint, get a good night's sleep, and then tomorrow morning I'll go for a run and maybe do some vestibular exercises. Think good thoughts for me. xo
I had an hour to kill in Cork, which was good because I wanted to pick up some conditioner and shampoo, which I did. But I nearly got on the wrong bus because there are two number 40 Expressway buses leaving the same bus station at roughly the same time, except one goes to Waterford and one goes to Tralee. I tried to get on the Tralee one because I didn't see the Waterford one -- I had even put my suitcase in the boot. But luckily the bus driver (who was much more confused than he should have been, all things considered) told me I needed the bus to Waterford, not Tralee. So I grabbed my suitcase and booked it to the opposite end of the platform area, only to bump into a guy who was standing next to the Waterford bus, trying to figure out how the heck he was supposed to get to Tralee. I told him about the other 40 bus, and he took off running. I think he literally got to the bus a second before it pulled out.
The bus ride was unremarkable. I ate a falafel wrap and a cookie. I thanked my lucky stars for technology as I tracked the bus location on my phone because the bus driver was not announcing the stops. I got off the bus, grabbed my suitcase, looked up, and there was the sign for Greywood. Jessica (a fellow US ex-pat from Connecticut) showed me around the place and omg Mark would be so jealous if he could see it. I have my very own room for writing that overlooks trees and a river. My bedroom is so lovely, too. Killeagh (pronounced Kill-AH, if anyone is wondering) village is also very cute.
I chatted with Jessica for a while and then I got to work. I finished reading my print-out, which was hard in bits because of the subject matter, obviously. I realised that it's been years since I re-read it all and some of it I don't even remember writing. Some of it I had forgotten had happened! And some of my descriptions of how I was feeling and what I was doing still resonated so strongly that I have to thank myself for having written so much down as it was happening.
But now that I've gone through everything and made these notes, it all feels much more manageable. I just have to sort out this beginning bit (aka the part that has been the stumbling block for the past 9 years - no big deal) and then I think I'll be flying.
There's just one kind of big problem. I think that the long train and bus ride has caused my Mal de Débarquement Syndrome to return. This is an issue I had after a trip to Italy in late 2017 that lasted for nearly 5 months where I felt like I was on a boat constantly. After working for a couple of hours at the table, I had to admit that the sensation of floating was creeping in. So I went and took a short walk and then I came back and made some dinner, after which I felt much better -- pretty much normal. But then it seems that when I sit back down and try to work, it comes back. Very frustrating. So I'm going to stop for the night, maybe go for a pint, get a good night's sleep, and then tomorrow morning I'll go for a run and maybe do some vestibular exercises. Think good thoughts for me. xo
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