Why I Quit My 15 Year-long Messageboard Habit

Back when I met my partner in 2004, in the days before Facebook was known to the general public, in the days of Friendster, MySpace, and Livejournal, he told me about the messageboard called Honeypump. At the time, I was working in a very boring office job with nothing to do for most of the day. I did so much online shopping during that time, I memorised my credit card number.

I registered on the Honeypump messageboard with the avatar 'Appletree' and it's the only name I've ever used. There are probably more than a few people out in there in the world who only know me as Appletree. A handful of people on the board, most of whom were based in Boston or had a Boston connection, used their real names, but most people used handles. Sometimes people would change names and you'd have to figure out who they were.

Some of the people on the board knew each other, some were strangers to nearly everyone, and some people started off as strangers but started to meet other board members in real life. I had just broken up with my boyfriend of three years and before that had gotten divorced -- in both cases I'd found myself needing to find a new friend group. So the timing was great -- I met a bunch of very nice people from the messageboard and they became my 'real life' social circle.

At the same time, the board was chock full of drama. Some of the drama originated from theoretical or political arguments, and some of it arose from real scenarios of conflicts that spilled over onto the internet. And I wasn't immune to either of these scenarios. As it was still the early days of the internet, and most of us were on the young side (though, in my early 30s, I was old enough to know better), so I think there was a learning curve in terms of healthy ways to conduct ourselves in this nameless, faceless space. But the drama made it a great way to stave off loneliness and to kill time in a cubicle.

When I moved to Brooklyn, I found a local messageboard called 'Williamsboard,' and that became my new online hangout. As I'd done in Boston, I went to board hangouts and became friends with some of the posters. I'll admit that it got a bit addictive at that time for me. I wasn't in a great place emotionally, and I felt overwhelmed by my school work and the financial pressures of living in New York. So I spent a lot of time on the board when I should have been doing assignments. But when I got myself on the 'top 20 posters list', I felt a weird sense of pride. Looking back, I see how messed up my priorities were and how bad it was for my mental health to escape into a world of jokes and pithy quips as a means to escaping a life where I didn't feel I was measuring up.

Honeypump ended, and another board called Lemmingtrail replaced it. Lemmingtrail went down, and that was replaced with another board, and again, and again. Each time, less and less people followed. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat had long replaced the internet messageboard. And I think by then, most of the messageboard veterans didn't have much use for that sort of thing anymore.

I found myself, nearly 15 years on, still posting. Sure, not with the same zeal or need as in the early days, but I remained a consistent 'regular poster' on the latest iteration of the board, which by now consisted of about half people I knew in 'real life' and a handful of people I only knew from the board. It's a funny grey area to be around people in an online space for over a decade. You aren't friends. You don't even know their real names. But they know things about you, and you know things about them. In this latest version of the board, because it was so small, I found myself sharing a lot of personal feelings and getting good advice. I hope I was able to contribute helpfully to others needing someone to talk to. But I also posted about my home renovations, clothes, shitting, exercising, and dumb stock photos I came across at work. It was a lovely outlet to have during the day when I needed a breather from my job.

All along, none of the boards I posted to were particularly diverse. I'd guess about 70 to 80% dudes, all cis gender. Only a very few of us were queer. Only a couple of people were not white. Nearly everyone had gone to college. In other words, a hot bed of privilege, myself included.

As a woman, I obviously move through a male-dominated world. If I didn't come to terms with that, as most women do, I'd be roaming the streets, ranting and raving like a lunatic, because it can make  you crazy sometimes. I think the most frustrating part of being a woman is that when you do finally find the courage to speak out and ask men to be more compassionate people, they usually respond by being less so. I am 46 years old and I have seen this play out more times than I can count. I'd say it's human nature, and maybe it is, but it's definitely a male quality. And I don't #notallmen me because I firmly believe that any 'decent' man will act horribly under certain circumstances.

This is a very long-winded way of describing what made me quit, despite the pangs of sadness I feel over the decision. And I want to write about it here because this is my space, where I have complete control. I want to write about it because the conversation is still happening without me. And I want to write about it because writing is how I make sense of things.

One of the threads on the board was about movies we'd seen -- old or new -- for people to post their opinions of films they'd just watched. Someone posted that they'd seen 'Hannah Gadsby: Nanette', a Netflix special that came out back in June 2018. It got a huge amount of attention for Gadsby's groundbreaking social commentary. I'll just copy and paste the synopsis of the show here: "Gadsby uses the piece to deconstruct the nature of comedy and asks the "straight white male" to undergo the same tension that marginalized people go through every day. She does this by explaining her experience as a lesbian and gender non-conforming woman. She explains that some are brought up to hate themselves, while others are brought up with the licence to hate others. Her realisation is that the self-deprecating humour common to standup comedy is doubly painful for marginalised people, because it is joining the chorus of people who insult and belittle them already. This leads her to conclude that she can no longer do standup comedy, and structures the piece around claiming she is giving up comedy. She has since stated that she is not doing so after all due to the surprising response to her show."

When it came out, I remember being impressed at how important the show was to so many people I knew or followed online. Gadsby had articulated something essential.

I was really excited to watch it! I put it on one Friday night after a long week and, predictably, fell asleep. I kept meaning to go back and watch the part I missed (ie, most of it). My partner, who didn't fall asleep, wasn't that impressed. "I don't get how it was so revolutionary," he said, "It was all stuff that was like, duh, of course -- I thought everyone knew that." I told him no, I don't think most people do.

Fast forward to this thread on the board. A single, brief post, stood out to me, which said, simply, "Nanette was so bad."

Ok, so, I had two separate-but-related reactions. First, one of my big pet peeves is when people say, "[X] Sucks", or "[X] is awful", thus dismissing it as if they are the arbiter of taste and it's so obvious that it needs no further explanation and implying that if you like [X], then you don't know what you're talking about, because it's awful. My pet peeve has been dismissed numerous times on the messageboard with the (condescending) explanation that if someone says something sucks, it's obviously their opinion (duh!). And, apparently, my opinion that actually it is precisely that it isn't presented as opinion, but FACT, is invalid. My being bothered by it sucks, if you will.

It's not that I saw Nanette and thought it was so amazing that I wouldn't have anyone cast aspersions on it. As I mentioned, I didn't see most of it. But I knew how important it was, and that simple statement of dismissal and disdain represented something really significant to me: extreme privilege.

Here, in Nanette we have a queer, gender non-conforming rape survivor creating art (yes, a standup special that turns the concept of standup comedy on its head and challenges the patriarchy is definitely art) engineered to challenge straight white male power, not just in comedy, but just generally, and here's a straight white male saying, ugh so bad. I think that needs to be examined. I think we need to stop and linger on that a minute. I think we need to unpack what that means.

For me, it's not a mere difference of opinion. I don't mind if this guy didn't like Nanette. You didn't like it? Fine. Articulate why. Engage with it. Treat it like it at least matters, if not to you, then someone. Because it should matter! But it shouldn't only matter to women and queers. It should matter to the straight white guys in our lives who want a better world for people who aren't straight white guys. I'd have more respect for a scathing critique of Nanette than a mere "so bad". "So bad" means, to me, "I am so comfortable in my privilege that I care more that the 'comedy' special wasn't funny than about the fact that this person risked their entire career, exposed their own trauma, told their truth, and spoke out against their oppression. It wasn't funny and so it was bad. End of story, nothing more to say."

I decided to comment and to try and unpack my response to his two word review, which was to immediately thing hmmm I guess he's not an ally. And that's about where I think most of the dudes on the board stopped reading. My point can be summed up like this:

Maybe if the performance you're critiquing was created by a marginalised person and is about their experience of oppression, how about considering not dismissing it so heartlessly? How about acknowledging that you didn't like it while maintaining its value? It's not hard. They think I am being pedantic but there actually is a big, big difference between "I didn't enjoy it" and "It was so bad."

And so the conversation still continues that when I said words to the effect of, "When I read what you wrote, I thought you aren't a good ally" that I was both accusing him of not being an ally and saying he was homophobic. I said neither of those things. I was sharing my reaction, which is to say, "Your saying that makes you sound, to me, like you aren't an ally." And P.S. You don't have to be a homophobe to be a shit ally.

An ally is "a person or organisation that cooperates with or helps another in a particular activity". If you're an ally to a marginalised group, you are, to some degree, helping them in their fight against oppression. If you aren't helping, then you aren't an ally, no matter how great your opinions are.

So here's what happened. Dudes read what I wrote, put words in there and intentions in there that I didn't have. Other dudes read the interpretations and superimposed them onto my words, and then their interpretations became my words, no matter how many times I instructed them back to what I actually said. My voice became drowned. Finally I said whatever, let's move on. I didn't want to put the kind of energy it takes to get a bunch of dudes on a messageboard to change their opinions about something because I'm not sure it's ever happened in the history of internet messageboards.

(As an aside, if your comment starts off with a disclaimer that you know you sound like an Male Rights Activist, maybe consider not sounding like a Male Rights Activist.)

So I accepted that most of these people were never going to get my actual point and would rather slap each other on the back than to ask me clarifying questions about my point of view with the aim of greater understanding and... yep... being better allies. They'd no intention or desire to be better allies. Only self-assurance that they're super cool guys with great opinions that I can take or leave and if I was bent out of shape, it was my fault. The irony is that I don't give a shit what anyone thinks of Nanette. I incorrectly assumed (very funny now, in retrospect) that the person would be like, "Jeez, I didn't realise that saying what I said made me sound like I wasn't an ally. Maybe I'll avoid saying things that make me sound like I'm not an ally, because I am an ally and I want to come off as one because I love my LGBTQ friends." Nah. As I've seen over and over and over again, when you ask a straight, cis white man to change their way of thinking, they dig their heels in nearly every time.

Pushing on, I continued to post about the funny stock photos at work and other similarly banal topics. I figured I could put the situation behind me. But then that's when I was confronted with another reality: I was being mocked. My posts, which had been wildly misinterpreted, were still on their minds. Because god forbid we should move on when a man has been called homophobic! And told he can't have OPINIONS! How can she just keep posting here when she's policed our speech in such a heartless fashion! We can't say anything is bad anymore without this woman telling us we're having opinions wrong!

With a heavy heart, I quit the board. I'm quite sad over it. I'm not sure I've ever quit such a long-formed habit in my life. Logging onto the board had been a daily ritual. I already miss it. But I had to decide that my relationship with men has changed. Putting myself in the firing line isn't worth it anymore. Being where I'm devalued isn't worth it anymore. I can't purposely place myself in a space where I'm not respected and where my thoughts are treated like ammunition to distort and throw back in my face. They acted like I was trying to police them, but it was me who was policed.

It's wild! To ask someone to just merely consider another point of view and then to be treated like this idea, so altruistic, is the actual problem. After everything that's happened in human history! It's actually fascinating. And depressing.

Makeup thoughts, part 2

My last post was really the bare-bones basics for someone who wants to wear a little makeup, but doesn't want to go full glam. Now I want to dig a little deeper! I'd like to talk about other ways to use makeup -- I didn't talk about concealer, contouring, highlighter, makeup removal, or more creative and dramatic ways to approach the eyes. So, let's do it!

One thing to keep in mind when you watch tutorials on Youtube and Instagram is that these people are doing makeup to look good on camera or in a photo. In real life, they often look very, very different and not in a good way. And you've probably seen these kinds of makeup jobs in person, too, where it's like yiiiikes what is going on there? My point is that just because an influencer is flogging a product or technique and it looks great on them, it might not be great for you.

Before I buy a product, I'll usually do a search for the product name and review, and usually you'll find more than a few people who have made videos about their experiences with it. (Note: avoid "unboxing" videos because usually they're just literally the person taking the thing out of the box, putting some on their hand, and telling you about the consistency and smell.) Of course, just because some of the reviews are negative, doesn't mean the product isn't for you. For example, the person might have a different skin type than you or live in a much different climate. There's a Youtuber I like who has oily skin and lives in Florida so I take that into account when buying for my dry skin in a cold and wet climate.

🔳 Concealer can be your friend, but it can also be your enemy, especially if you are a woman of a certain age, like me. If you've ever watched a young Youtuber give a makeup tutorial, they will often slather on concealer in big triangles under their eyes, blend it in, and then set it with powder. If you have any fine lines or wrinkles under your eyes, let me tell you this will not look good in five minutes as the makeup settles into your lines. (I've posted a video below that shows how to avoid that.)

So there are three products that come in handy when you have something you'd like to cover up or minimise, like redness around the nose, under-eye darkness or discolouration, or a spot: colour corrector, concealer, and setting powder.

Step 1: Colour corrector. First let me say that you don't always need to use colour corrector, but it can really help. How you use colour corrector is going to depend mostly on what you're covering and what your skin tone is. They also come in pots, sticks, tubes, and more. The basic idea is that you apply the opposite colour of what you're covering. Colour correcting sets will have a variety of colours for this purpose, like this one from Anastasia Beverly Hills:

There are loaaaads of youtube tutorials on colour corrector, but the best thing is to find one made by someone with a skin type and tone similar to your own. Here are a couple selections:

Step 2: Concealer. You want to put a bit of concealer over the thing you colour corrected. The concealer should match your skin as closely as possible in that area at that time. (You might be lighter or darker depending on how much sun or self-tanner you've been exposed to lately.) 

Step 3: Setting powder. Just a smidge will do! Lightly dust the spot you covered up with translucent powder. Some people think you need to put foundation over concealer, but you really really don't.

Here are some other tutorials for covering specific areas/issues:

An overall no-foundation look using concealer:

How to cover up a spot:

How to prevent concealer from creasing:

How to conceal dark circles under the eyes:

If you're going for full face coverage, here's a deep dive into how to use concealer with foundation:

🔳 Contouring can be fun! Done properly, contour and highlighting can really make your cheekbones stand out, define your jawline, and it can even change the perceived shape of your nose! Done incorrectly, you can look like you've got painted stripes on your face. The key is to build thin layers so you don't apply too much and then blend, blend, blend.

Usually contour/highlighting products are powders, but they can come in creamy consistencies, or you can also contour with darker shades of foundation or tinted moisturiser. There are also different takes on where to apply the products -- for example, you'll see guides that tell you to apply them in different areas according to your face shape. But really, this is the basic concept:

I absolutely love the finished look in this tutorial. Shonagh Scott has created contours by simply using different shades of tinted moisturiser and the result is extremely natural and sun-kissed:

Here is a tutorial for a subtle look if you wear foundation:

This tutorial uses only different shades of concealer to contour and highlight:

If you're a little older, these might be the tutorials for you. The first is with cream products:

And  this one is with powder products:

And finally, there's a cool invention called 'setting spray' for keeping it all in place! It kind of reminds me of being in art class when we used to spray a finished drawing to keep the charcoal from going all over the place. Or hairspray, I suppose.

I have an allergy which keeps me from using setting spray myself, but there are loads of options at many price points. Some of them give you a 'dewy glow' and some of them have some SPF, while some are made for oily or dry skin. But if you find that your makeup doesn't stay put, especially in summer, give setting spray a go!

I didn't talk about everything I wanted to in this post, but sure I'll leave it here for now. And maybe tell me which products you're using so I can try them!

Greywood Arts, final thoughts

I wanted to do a post about yesterday, but the day conspired against me.

I woke up late-ish but managed to sit down to work by 10:41am, still in the sweats I slept in. I wasn't warm, but the content must have been hard on my nerves because I could feel lines of sweat dripping down from my armpits. The next thing I knew, it was half past four and I hadn't even taken a break for lunch. But instead of eating, I went for a run because the weather was gorgeous and I thought a run would help me unwind from the hours of difficult writing.

And it was a brilliant run. I ran a longer distance than the run earlier in the week, but somehow it seemed to go by more quickly. I showered, changed, and planned to go for dinner with Mary and Yoni in a couple of hours. Mary gave me a handful of peanuts and I munched on a few corn cakes to tide me over.

But within ten minutes of sitting back at the computer, I felt a strange sensation, as if my hands weren't attached to my body. I stopped typing and realised that I was having the outer body sensation that signals an oncoming migraine. Oh no! Yup. I got up and walked around, trying to figure out whether I was right. The visuals hadn't started yet, but all the other signs were there.

Luckily the others decided to go to dinner an hour early. I took a boat load of nurofen and hoped for the best. The visuals started on cue about 15 minutes later, but I powered through them as well as the foggy brain and trouble finding words or stringing sentences together! Eventually I felt mostly normal.

We got Colm's number and sent him a text to meet us at the pub. The four of us enjoyed our last night together, telling stories and making each other laugh. I wish we could have had a little bit longer here, in this oasis. Today, I'll head back to Dublin, Mary goes to Cork, and Yoni will stay on in Greywood for a couple of weeks more. But the good news is that both of them are stopping in Dublin before they leave Ireland, so I don't have to say proper good-byes today! My bus will arrive to bring me to Cork in about a half hour, and then I'll return to regular life.

In terms of results - I have over 34,500 words of my book complete. It's maybe about half of what I was going for, but actually I think I'm about 2/3 finished. That's something I feel really proud of. I know it won't be long before I'm done. I worked my way through the tough bits that had been the real hurdles, so from here on out I have a very clear vision of my process. I am actually looking forward to the process, whereas before I thought mostly about the product.

So, all in all I know I wrung the experience as best as I possibly could and made the most of my time here and I return to Dublin with a feeling of great satisfaction.

Writing Week Day 4

I'm actually beside myself with exhaustion so I will try to be brief.

Last night I had trouble getting to sleep because one of the other residents had said "a woman" (aka a ghost) had briefly visited her room and I was a bit terrified to turn out the light. But it was fine.

Woke up at about half nine, showered, ate a bit of toast, and then went straight into it for about half ten. I worked without a break until nearly six o'clock, not even lunch. It was amazing. I'm up to almost 30,000 words now.

There was to be an event on a 7pm, so I cooked myself some spaghetti and ate it as quickly as I could. The event was an art share that started with a facilitated conversation between the Irish author Orla McAlinden and the artist Mary Coss. I'd say about ten people showed up, which was perfect. Their conversation was really compelling, and I found Orla's story about writing her first book really motivating. She was a veterinarian, and when her father died, she started writing stories using his voice as the inspiration. But seeing as she couldn't publish the stories (some of the featured characters still being alive), she decided to write other stories. And now her second book has just been published.

After the talk, Yoni played three of the movements on piano from the project he's working on. It was absolutely lovely. Although I have often heard him play since I've been here, it's been all stops and starts, and impossible to hear any sort of arrangement. So it was amazing to hear the results of all those stops and starts!

Finally, Jess asked if I wanted to share a bit of what I'm working on. I read a section of my book that talked about not having enough courage when it came time to help my dad use the urinal. I had picked out a second bit, but I chickened out reading that one. But the feedback on what I did read was incredible. I do think I'm really onto something. I can feel that my story will really resonate with so many people, even though at the moment sometimes I worry that it's pedestrian.

One thing I'm realising through this process: I used to describe this book as a book about my father. And as I write, I'm realising that my father's actual, healthy, real personality is actually virtually absent. Cancer erased so much of his essence. The story is about me. I never thought of it as a story about me before, but it definitely is. As it should be. The only one qualified to tell my father's story is him. I mean, it makes sense. Writing is largely a narcissistic endeavour. But I want to tell my story so that other people who have been or will go through this experience can read it and see themselves.

One woman at the event spoke up and said that only a couple of days ago, she'd been to her parents' house to care for her mother and father, who had both been in a fall (one fell atop the other). And she said that the passage from my book that I read was almost exactly what happened to her. "You need to write this book," she said, emphatically. Later, I got into a conversation with another woman who was talking about another point I was talking about relating to being assertive and advocating for your loved one. She told me that I could probably get funding from patient advocacy groups.

I didn't realise it, but I think I really needed the encouragement. I'm just over halfway done with what I planned to do. I may not finish it all before I leave here, but if I don't, I'm 1000% certain I'll finish very soon upon my return. I know that I can finish, I will finish, and I will find my audience, too. 

Writing Week Day 3

Oh my goodness. What a time I've had just now. But wait - let me start at the beginning.

I didn't sleep as well last night as the night before -- probably because I got my period and also I had a couple of glasses of wine and I should know by now that wine (even a glass or two) negatively affects my sleep. But even still, I slept better than normal, so this is in no way a complaint.

I made myself a little omelet and some toast and then it was straight into it. I sat down to work and basically worked from about 10-something to 5-something. I didn't even break for lunch. I now have 18,500 words down. Some of the parts I worked on today felt a bit tedious. And a lot of the story isn't literary -- it's difficult to be literary when you're talking about the minutiae of death. So much of the story is like, I bought him a steak and he only had three bites. But I want to include that bit because it's a true representation of what happens when you're desperately trying to keep someone alive.

I was thinking about that bit in Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man - you know, the hardest section of the book, where the priest is giving that long sermon about hell. It's so fucking long and boring that by the end of it, you really start to feel like you are actually in hell. Well I guess the thing about what I'm writing is that I want to really convey how tedious and relentless it is to be obsessed with another person's food intake. I don't want to gloss over the long-winded, desperate planning that goes into finding the perfect food that they're going to gobble right up, and look at you, and say, "That was delicious, I'll have approximately 500 more, and then once I eat these, I promise I'll have the will to live and we'll all be so happy, and p.s. I'm never going to die. Thank you for buying me this shake." Because this is the fantasy land that carers live in and I want to be true to that life.

So anyways, Mary, the amazing sculptural artist here, is doing a really neato project that entails recording women's stories and she asked to interview me. So I stopped working and went up to be interviewed. The mic stopped recording a half hour in, so I went for a walk while she sorted out the technical difficulties. My MdDS has definitely come back, although mildly, and I decided that I should probably walk for the sake of my vestibular system. While I was walking (and being rained on), I chatted to my sister Tina. We had a lovely chat. Then I returned so Mary could re-record me. There were still some technical issues, but we left it because by then it was 8:30pm and our stomachs were growling.

Next door there's a thatched roof restaurant with tourist prices, but we had 10% off coupons and it appears to be the only half-decent restaurant in the village. Yoni joined us, and as usual we updated each other on our projects. We talked about vegetarianism, our artistic goals for our time here, and various other very interesting subjects. When it became clear that the restaurant side of the establishment was closing, we moved over to the bar, where a man named Callum was already drinking. Mary introduced us. Callum helps Jess and Hugh with bits and pieces here in the house, and that's how he and Mary were already acquainted. He introduced himself to me and Yoni, but already seemed to know a bit about each of us.

We then proceeded to have one of the most hilarious and entertaining conversations that I have ever had. Callum has lived here in Killeagh for 40 years. Previous to that, he was living in Dublin for a couple of years, and then previous to that he was born and reared in Derry (the county, not the city). He wore an Easter Lily pin that he said someone stuck on that particular shirt several years ago, and has never come off since.

Do you ever just laugh and laugh and laugh so much that you realise you can't remember when you last laughed that much? That's how this conversation went. All four of us were in absolute stitches. And it worked perfectly -- each person added a funny element to the conversation and it definitely would not have been as entertaining if even one of us hadn't been there. First we talked about this house being haunted. Then we moved onto ghost stories, crazy artists who stayed in the house, stories about the house's previous tenants, the church conductor, flying in planes, and more. It was one of those times when I felt completely in the moment, listening intently, translating Callum's accent for the other two, telling jokes and stories, and thinking this is fucking amazing. This makes life worth living. This is what I want to recreate when I write, or at the very least put a name to.

So it's later than I'd like it to be, and I'll go to bed now. But first I want to say something.

You don't have to have the perfect job to live the life that you want to live. You can live a great life in other ways. I used to think that if I didn't have certain things, then I was a failure. Now I see that as long as I can feel joy or feel that joy is possible, I will never be a failure. 

Writing Week Day 2

Before I talk about Day 2, I have some more things to say about Day 1!

After I wrote yesterday's blog post, I went out for pints with the other two artists here this week. The first is a young composer named Yoni, who is one of the most interesting people I've ever met. He grew up in Jerusalem and Montreal, but has lived in India and New York and is especially well travelled for his age. He speaks Hebrew, Russian, English, and French (and maybe a bit of Romanian and Albanian, if memory serves?). When he said he was from Jerusalem rather than Israel, I immediately picked up on the tension - I do something similar when I am anticipating a certain reaction to where I'm from. I kind of ... bend the location a little. So in other words, I didn't write him off or confront him when I learned he was from Israel. I knew from the second I met him that he was a nice person, and it would have taken a lot for me to think otherwise. ANYHOO - let's just say he mentioned having a Palestinian friend and after two days I am unwavering in my conviction that he's someone who will make the world a better place.

The other artist is Mary, an artist from Seattle, Washington. The projects she was talking about sounded super impressive and also extremely cool and interesting. Right away, from the second she introduced herself to me, I felt like I knew her. She's 64 but honestly I was kind of shocked because she has an extremely youthful affect. And she is so beautifully open and curious. You know how sometimes people get to a certain age and they act like people younger than them don't have anything interesting to say? Well Mary had lots of questions for me and Yoni, and then shared her insights, and the conversation just flowed in a lovely trajectory.

But here's what I wanted to tell you about. So we were talking about the US -- I haven't been there for over three years, so when I talk to someone who lives there I usually have a lot of questions. Yoni was saying that apart from a visit to New York, he hadn't been to the rest of the US except for a wedding in Florida. I was just about to launch into a speech about how much I hate Florida, when I asked him what part of Florida the wedding was. He said it was on the coast, south of Orlando. "Melbourne?" he said, "On the beach..."
"Melbourne Beach??" I asked. He said yes, the wedding was in Melbourne Beach. That's where my grandparents lived for like 25 years. Then, he said, "But I actually stayed in a nearby town - I think it was called Palm Bay." I was absolutely stunned. Palm Bay is the town where my father was living when he died. And his death in Palm Bay was what I came here to write about. What are the odds that I'd meet a guy from Jerusalem in Ireland who had been to Palm Bay and Melbourne Beach? There's even a whole section of my book where I talk about going to Melbourne Beach with my siblings. What the heck!!

So I had an absolutely blissful night's sleep on the amazing bed with this amazing pillow and this amazingly quiet room. Honestly the entire trip was nearly worth the one night of sleep that I got, it was that good. I fixed myself some breakfast, had a bit of a chat with Mary, and sat down to work. I made some decent headway, until I hit about 10,000 words and decided it would be a good time to go for a run. Laced up, I headed to these wood trails around the corner. It took a little figuring out, and I still didn't do the route that I planned, but holy smokes. First of all, I left my phone in the house. I wanted to be really present. It was amazing. The woods have some of the most gorgeous trees I've ever seen and rhododendron trees, which I did not know could even grow that high. Some of them were over two storeys tall. And the smell of dirt! It reminded me of New Hampshire and the many, many hours I spent in the woods around our house, just exploring. And I didn't do too bad with the running, either - there were some long stretches of uphill terrain, but I just did what I could do and walked when I felt like it. But mostly I ran the whole way! As I was running, I ran some things about the day's writing over in my head. I let my mind go wherever I wanted it to.

And I also decided that this week is, hands down, the greatest gift I have ever given myself. And the best part is that I can totally do it again, as many times as I want!

Running feels life affirming in the most literal way. And it's something I wrote about in this book, but I want to expand on it a bit when I get to that part. Running is not something I particularly excel at, but it is something that I always go back to, again and again, when I want to feel happiness. It's a form of meditation for me. I don't care if I can't run the longest or the fastest. I just like to run and feel my body living and working while I can. Running definitely kept me sane when my father was sick and afterwards.

When I came back from my run, I made a little cheese and tomato sandwich, took a shower, and sat down to work for another two and a half hours. So far, I have nearly 13,000 words of my draft finished. The panic of whether I will accomplish my goals is starting to dissipate. I feel confident that if the next three and a half days go as well as the last day and a half have gone, I will leave here with a full first draft of my book. I don't know whether anyone else will think it's any good, but if I'm happy with how it comes out, it won't really matter. At my age, dreams of being some famous writer fell away a long time ago.

I went to dinner tonight with Mary and Yoni -- the restaurant next door closed early because of the bank holiday, so we went to a Chinese place. Chinese places are kind of a crap shoot in Ireland. Mary was gutsy and ordered squid. Yoni and I got vegetarian dishes. I was slightly amazed that we all enjoyed our food. All three of us were glowing from the buzz of productive days. I'm happy. I'm just so happy. I wish I could go back in time and tell my younger self that happiness is possible and one day you'll feel true joy. I wish I could go back in time and tell my grieving self that no, you won't always feel suffocated with sadness and loss. But they're two sides of a coin, aren't they? And you can't have a rich life without those coins. xoxo

Writing Week Day 1

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