Quarter life crisis!

I’ve been writing little bits and pieces recently, but nothing on my blog. I’ve been trying to write something more structured and less rambling but I haven’t really got anywhere with it. I guess my life has been all up in the air… Moved to France, moved to England, came back to Ireland…. Fell in love, got over it, fell in love, got over it….

This year has been the year of the quarter life crisis.

The… ok, I’ve had a lot of fun and done a lot of stupid things and met a lot of people but now what the fuck  am I going to do with my life?

I don’t want to be broke and I don’t want to trudge up the office career ramp while my bum gets flat and square from sitting in a swivel chair.

Those seem to be my options. 

So I decided to go back to college this year, after moving briefly to England and realising how fucking hard it is to find a job when all you’ve done so far is start again and again and never learn anything that comes with that bit of paper.

I decided to go and study business management. Because my dream has always been to own my own little cafe and make cakes and pies and feed people in a charming little room with twinkle lights and oh wasn’t my dream to have a bar and serve cocktails and craft beers and a vast range of whiskeys?

And then wouldn’t business be fucking boring, and not really guarantee me any way closer to my dream?

And then what about computer science, because I’m smart and I’m good with computers and if I hadn’t taken the slippery slope paved with sex and drugs and alcohol, I’d probably have gotten really good at programming…..

So that’s it, I’m going to do computer science.

I started to set it all up for next year. Did everything I needed to ensure I get my fees paid for with this government initiative that pays for everything, including a weekly living expense that could pretty much take care of me all through college.



And I was going to do it. I started to take a little course online, an intro to computer science. Interesting.

Except then I started making excuses not to do it.

Like I’m hung over, or it’s the weekend and I want to go out and get laid, or it’s the weekday and I don’t have anything to do but I’d rather rewatch all the episodes of insert embarassing comedy series here.

So it started gnawing at me, the reality…

I don’t really really want to study computer science. I don’t. I’d like to have a smart degree, something I could impress people with, something that I could get a good job with.

But…. I don’t know. I’m interested in computers but what about all the math?

And then yesterday, I was looking up creative writing classes because now that I have all this spare time, as I have to stay at least partially unemployed to get the government grant next year, I thought I should take a creative writing class. Keep me busy.

I still want to write, but like, it’s such a pipe dream. I can’t count on that ever leading me to decent money. 

And I discovered there’s a masters program in a college in Dublin, a masters degree in creative writing.

I don’t know why I phoned the college, because OF COURSE I can’t do a masters without having a bachelors degree.

Except when I asked the lady on the phone, she said…. yes. Yes you can. All you need is good writing samples.

And then…

I got so excited! I realised… that’s what I want to do. That’s all I want to do.

My dream has never been to own a cafe or a bar or write programs or design websites, it has been writing, all my life it has been to write. And I could go back and do a masters degree and how much would i enjoy that? Jesus.

That’s it.

Suddenly it became totally clear to me that the business and computers ideas were just not me. they were me panicking and trying to catch up with everyone else I know who is SOMEWHERE in their life now while I’m floundering in what I’ve always called mediocrity but is sliding further down the scale as everyone else overtakes me.

It’s always been my dream to write, and I’ve never done it because I’m chicken shit and don’t know where to start.

And now I realise that I could probably learn and get guidance and DO IT and just find out if it’s my calling or not, and it would only take a year and then if I’m not cut out to be a write I’d just know and it could stop being the thing at the back of my mind that lets me get away with being unambitious.

what a great discovery.

Except, then I started doing my research, and I found out that the government grants I was going to get to fund me in an undergraduate degree, don’t count for masters programs.

So I’d have to come up with 7 or 8,000 euros and then all the money to pay rent and living costs for the year.

And Dublin is expensive. 

So I can’t do it.

And not only can I not do it, but now the other things I was going to do are so clearly wrong that I just don’t know….

what to do with my life.


I’m kind of totally lost in my own life. What the fuck should I do with myself.

I’m 26 this month and I’m finally, only now, finally at the point that most people are in when they first leave school.

Except I’m nearly 26. 


Ahh… I thought writing that would help clear my head but it’s just cementing how I have no fucking clue what to do.

Advice much appreciated.


To be a teacher and move to France or not to be a teacher and move to France?

Doubt again.

I DID seize the day today. Yesterday, despite my misty eyed pep talk was a write off. I left the house around 7pm to do some grocery shopping and walking around the aisles I felt a pining in my belly for the cheap good wine and the magret du canard he cooked for me. I wondered sickly if I would really be able to not be in love with him just because it’s stupid to be in love with someone who doesn’t even let you be in love the normal illogical way and can’t even commit to his next orgasm. I saw him online and he didn’t write again. I wrote a tentative, counter-everything I know and have been told and have decided- Hey! And he didn’t reply. Fuck him. fuck him. Wish I could fuck him… But fuck him…

Today I got up and had a langorous breakfast of coffee and a lot of cigarettes and two potato waffles with a lot of butter to drip through the holes. I walked into Dublin city because the sun was shining, Irish as I am I carried a woollen jumper around all day unnecessarily because sure you never know. The weather is a moody bitch, but it stuck all day today and it felt good and my legs are still a pleasing shade of above-ivory. I visited all four of my pre-compiled list of addresses of schools offering English teaching courses and was very impressed by one. The other three were a combination of ridiculously expensive and uninformative.

What used to be called the TEFL certificate or accreditation or what have you, is now CELTA or CELT. The difference between the two is that CELT means Certificate of English Language Teaching and CELTA means Cambridge Certificate of English Language Teaching for Adults. Both cost a similar whack and occupy a similar amount of time and effort…. only one is actually recognised all over the world. The other guys are sly and leave out that fact. The school I liked does the proper serious one and the lady spoke warmly and seemed genuinely interested in me and why I wanted to do this. She was really enthusiastic and I thought this is it, I’m coming here. But I went to find the last school anyway, to be thorough, except I couldn’t find it and I was by this stage weak from lack of food. So I went home happy with my day’s investigations… it doesn’t sound like much but I walked all over and I was wearing crappy shoes. Also I went shopping.

No, not like that… I bought underwear, nothing exciting just some more cotton ones because I don’t know what happens to all my underwear I just don’t seem to have enough. Maybe it’s that I keep acquiring (buying) more clothes and the more clothes I have the less regularly I do laundry so the less regularly I wash undies… Hmmm…

Anyway, when I got home I checked my email for the application forms they were sending me from the schools. There’s a whole interview process and it’s expensive and the course is apparently hard and intensive… and I have to write a cover letter about why I want to do this. And I wrote most of the letter and then started thinking, fuck…. is this right? Would I be able to hack it, one month intense, more intense than I’ve ever studied, 5 days a week, 9 hours a day, plus loads of written assignments and hands on teaching practice… would I be good? I never studied in my life. I never did, I was always clever enough to skim by…. I never studied for a test, never ever ever. I don’t even know how… And would I be a good teacher?

And… most importantly… because I really do want a big adventure and romance and to be better than I am… but… would I be able for Italy mark 2? Sure, France is not the meat market Italy is… France is more elegant and awesome and more me, a 1000,000,000 times more me… I think….

But what if I get there and I act like I always have? Shut myself up in my room and whimper I have no friends, I have no friends… am I capable of being an outgoing, friend-making solitary traveller? I want to be… but is it against my nature? Can I do it?

And so I spiral into despair. I’m kind of giving up on HIM anyway. I’m sure it’s not so bleak, if I am nearby he will of course want to see me, he’s not made of stone, he is crazy about me too he just has different ideas about long term relationships and how to deal with stuff. But I can’t feel like he will be there because he’s not letting me feel like he will be there, so I’m thinking of me, me on my own… it probably wouldn’t be much better if he was there for me anyway, because I don’t really want to acquire a posse of 21 year olds to hang out with when I’m being a cool international traveller. I’d need more varied and mature convo of course, I just want his extra time and his… mwah… kiiiisss.

And I’m afraid I’m going to do this course, work really really fucking hard to do it, and cost my daddy a pretty penny and then what? I can’t teach in Ireland, you need a degree to teach in Ireland. So it’s go somewhere and somehow miraculously get over my social shittyness… and is it something I can do? I want soooo much to be able to cop on to myself and do what I’ve never done, meet people and grow up and write and not go out all the time but just when it’s good, and go to cafes and for dinner and invite people to eat sometimes and not have enough furniture so we sit on the ground.

Like in Argentina, there was something very real and warming about that, but then I cheated, I inherited friends from my cousins and when I wasn’t drinking wine from jam jars and eating spaghetti with laughing Argentinians with dreadlocks while the half full pot of pasta with whatever sad sauce we could afford sat in the middle of the floor because we didn’t have a table just a wooden crate that was too wear for the pot to sit on…. The rest of the time I ordered pizza from two doors down, it wasn’t nice pizza but it was cheap, and I drank Argentinian whiskey (not good. I’ll never get those taste buds back… or them brain cells) and I stayed in at home and watched startingly old new release dvds from blockbuster. I didn’t go out and live the Buenos Aires life, not really, not very often… and I only made friends with people who were introduced to me. And I regret the shit out of that wasted time, because everyone thinks I went off and had super adventures but it’s a big fat lie of omission.

I did fuck all. I saw fuck all… I spent a lot on pizza and I only lost weight because I had a shitload of sex with my flatmate. Who I later married. I didn’t even have the motivation or curiosity to leave the house to meet a man. Apart from, briefly, the Jamaican. Actually, I just walked up to him and chatted him up… I guess I did meet one or two people on my own.  And a few Argentinians. But only people I then slept with… I didn’t make any friends. Can I make friends?


This is my current crisis, and I’m panicking because I need to apply with a convincing cover letter THIS WEEK or I can’t do the course before Christmas and if I leave it til Christmas you know what’s going to happen, I’ll have tired of the idea and moved on to some new obsession, and I’ll never know if I could live the beautiful life in France with a typewriter and a cat called Maurice and eat butter all day without getting fat.

(If you live in France you can eat butter all day without getting fat, it’s like calorie tax breaks. I don’t understand it, but it is obviously a fact.)

Am I just plotting a very expensive slap in the face for myself?

Am I looking for a fantasy world?

Or am I actually doing something ballsy that is not entirely stupid at all and kind of a good idea that might send me on to become the kind of person I actually would be proud of?

You can only pick one.

I half wish I was a religious person so I could make a pilgrimage to an oracle and then it wouldn’t be my stupid mistake whatever I do.

Help me, Rhonda…..


your flakey indecisive pal,