Bla

Well here I am, nearly a week back on Irish soil and it's all a bit... underwhelming. Yes, I know, the grass is always greener and yes, I know, I'm so lucky to be home for Christmas. But there is no doubt that Monday-Friday in Cooley is a slow ride. Added to that is all the family 'clutter' I usually forget about during the year which leads to me really looking forward to getting home, unprotected from the upcoming frustration. Every time I come back I suppose a small part of me is wondering, 'is it time to call it a day abroad? Could I live here again?' and the conclusive answer is, 'no!'. As I've said many times before, Ireland is where I would like to bring up my family and I think it's a great place to live. However, for me, an unmarried man in my (mid...) twenties with a lot more I'd like to do and see around the world, I just couldn't hack being back here too long. The majority of the friends that I had growing up around here are elsewhere now, and I'm not even sure what it is that I'd do if I lived in Moville. Even writing the sentence doesn't feel right. Someday, but not now. A great place to live, but not for me.

As for the family 'clutter' I mentioned... We all love our family, right? Of course we do. But that doesn't mean that they don't do about a million things that irritate us to the point where I think they've actually been giving me headaches. When we live at home we build up resistance, coping mechanisms to get us through the day. When we move away, we let our defences drop so that when we visit home again BANG we are vulnerable to the full brunt of all those niggling little peculiarities you will never get your head around, but which will never change. My mother, for example, (cooking me a lovely dinner as I slag her off to the world - how lovely I am) speaks all her thoughts. All the time. You won't see her looking thoughtfully out the window. No. You'll HEAR HER, perhaps, going through her entire day in order to figure out where she left her phone. She is currently commenting on how much of a mess she's making. Oh, and that's another thing, she talks to the dog. Full sentences. If the dog eats from the cat's bowl, she reasons with it. I think I feel a kind of a connection with our dog, Millie, as she stares back dumbfounded.

Nonetheless, I know that if I waste my time at home I'll regret it when I get back and said regret will span the entire year or however long it is before I grace these shores again. At the moment I'm internally vowing not to come home next Christmas. Too much cost, no one seems to give a crap anyhow, nice white sandy South-East Asian beaches trump being snowed in with my TV-addicted parents. Still, I also know that the next week is going to be brilliant when Ji and all my sisters are here and I hopefully get to catch up with more of my old friends. Then all my negativity will go out the window. My main concern right now is getting down to Dublin tomorrow (we Irish don't handle a bit of snow very well) and being at the airport when Ji arrives around 11pm, all being well. Most of my presents are bought, a good portion of my relatives have been visited, there's not much more I can or have to do before the big day. A couple of days in Dublin could be just what the doctor ordered. My bank account, on the other hand, may not agree - hats off to those of you who can afford to live here!

The family jibes - just tongue in cheek I hope you realise! Of course they bug me, as I bug them no doubt. When you consider that I have spent the majority of the last ten years away, what can I expect? In reality, they are essentially having a stranger invade their house for a couple of weeks. They have their version of normality, and I have mine. For a very short period of time once a year or so, we just have to try to meet in the middle.