“I’ve got a million reasons for doing everything.  I don’t think there’s ever just one.”

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There are so many various things I want to write about, and probably should for my own sanity, and most of them do exist in half-completed draft forms, but I can’t.  I want to talk about how I’ve become the laziest person alive, often staying in bed until one in the afternoon; how I’m afraid friends might think I’m stupid, not because I really suggest it or because they are xenophobic, but because I am American and it’s just basically understood that I know less about the world than they do; how I wish I knew more about the world but can’t even bring myself to pick up a newspaper; how I feel even stupider for wanting to get a degree in journalism when I can’t even bring myself to pick up a newspaper; how I’m somehow fulfilling all the things I jokingly said I’d do here; how good I feel all the time; how I cry after every night out, even the good ones; how I’m guilty about not being home right now because I should be there; how I selfishly don’t ever want to leave here; how I wish Maxine lived in the room next to me, after months and months of refusing to see her.

But they’re all interrelated, and I can’t really address one without addressing another, and sometimes I just get so wrapped up in my thoughts that I go, I JUST NEED TO LIE DOWN.  And then I lie down and think, and fall asleep thinking, and then hit my snooze because all I want to do is think.  And he tells me I should stop thinking and worrying so much, that he should too, that we both overanalyze everything, but who would I be if I didn’t do that?  Sometimes I want to say, “Yes, but if I don’t find things to care about, even little things, then my life will implode from futility.  I concern myself with everything because if I don’t…”  But I don’t say those things yet.

Instead, I make lists!  Productive, comforting lists full of instructions and deadlines and reasons to get out of bed (as well as something new and less panicky to think about when I get into bed).  So, since I’ve already started by making a semi-coloned list of some of the things on my mind, let’s switch to bullet points and address one of those things: How I Selfishly Don’t Ever Want to Leave Here.

Because I don’t.  And maybe it’s silly and idealistic, but good God in heaven, I do not want to go back to Boston College next year.  I’ve tried to come up with ways to stay, but a transfer is just going to be too complicated, and my dad would murder me for making him pay the last three years’ tuition, just to lose the name of Boston College from my transcript.  Plus, I would be giving up the many wonderful things that BC does offer, like their outrageously good alumni network which has served me quite well in the past.  So I have already accepted that I will be graduating from Boston College, which will require another academic year there.  But who says I need to go back to the bookstore this summer?  Not me!  After working like an absolute maniac over Christmas break and hating every section of the store I was placed in, it just can’t happen again.  Being there feels like I’m holding myself back.

Granted, I could just find something else in Massachusetts to do, but why?  Simply because the school year will be over?  Because that’s what you do during the summer–you go back home?  It’s not what I want.  I like this new place I’m in; even if I didn’t have the dramaticromcom going on right now, this is still my favorite place to be.  I want to know it in the summertime.  I don’t want to go.

But, because I wasn’t raised to live in the moment, I can’t just wait and see what happens then.  I have to have a plan of attack in order to broach this topic with my parents.  I will be met with Well have you thought about this that and the other?  And what about money, where are you staying, will your friends still be there, what about the bookstore, what about us? And I need to have responses for all of this.  So to begin my investigation into ways I can stay in Dublin for the summer, I present to you: a list.

• Ireland summer internships through Boston College: I’ve known about this since last year, and I know the folks who run it now.  It’s an 8-week, unpaid program, and they basically try to get you in anywhere you want.  You live in university accommodation.  There is a fair amount of freedom because outside your placement, there’s nothing compulsory.  8 weeks isn’t as long as I’d like, but I don’t see why I shouldn’t be able to extend it, as I know you’re more likely to get a position if you’re around longer.  I need to go down to BC-Ireland house in the next few weeks and discuss this.
• BC summer school in Ireland: This is a 3-week program that costs over $4,000.  They would be basic classes I don’t really need to take.  I’m not really taking this option seriously because I should be using my summer to gain work experience, not academic credit that I don’t need.
• James Joyce’s Ireland: This is a 3-week course led by my main man Nugent, who I am considering asking to be my senior thesis adviser anyway.  We would read Joyce and then go to the very spots he wrote about.  This is kind of something I’ve already done, and according to the website, “Students will find their days and evenings full.” As someone who’s already quite familiar with Dublin and has places and people she’d rather see, this will probably feel like once again being coddled by the BC staff.  But, that being said, it takes place from July 31-August 22, and it costs only $2600.  As the BC internship program goes until July 25, this may be my perfect combination.  Deadline to apply is February 13.
• IES Abroad Summer Internship Program: This just came up in a Google search, but it sounds credible.  It’s a 7-week program, and it says that past journalism placements have included The Dubliner and Circa Arts Magazine.  You take a six-credit class along with it.  I should bring this up with BC-Ireland as well, because if they can’t get me into one of their programs, then perhaps this is the best way to go.
• Just work:  Just do like the others do, just get your basic job, find somewhere to live, and work.  Maybe even convince Trinity to let me stay in my current housing.  This is not so appealing.

Okay.  I feel better now.  When he asks me if I had a productive day today, I can say yes.

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I am a notorious Apple hater, hater of all products except the iPod, which even I can admit is the greatest of all the great things in this great world.  The iPod is my ultimate status symbol, made all the better by the fact that I have an iPod Touch, and made all the worse by the fact that I don’t have the iPhone, and I know people are judging me.  Because I am judging them right back.

But iPod/iPhone aside, I detest all things Apple.  AppleTV?  Unnecessary!  That would mean you’re watching your iTunes downloads in the privacy of your own home, when I’m pretty sure the whole point of iTunes downloads is to watch them in public, on the train into Boston, while all the poor working schmucks around you peer over your shoulder and wonder why they don’t have that awesome iPod touch/iPhone so that they too can watch Mad Men instead of reading the news.  That fucking computer mouse?  Impractical!  I’ve got two fingers on the mouse so I should have two buttons, and good frigging grief, when you’ve got a bunch of people around you on Macs, it doesn’t matter if the keyboard is basically silent, because the stillness is replaced by the sound of everyone slapping the mouse down on the desk to get some response from its way-too-slow-and-unsensitive rolling ball.  Safari?  Slowest motherfucking browser this side of Internet Explorer, and it NEVER interprets my coding correctly, thereby driving my short-lived web designing career into the ground.  Every single MacBook ever?  WHY IS THE CLOSING BUTTON ON THE LEFT SIDE OF THE SCREEN.  Just because you do things opposite doesn’t make you more creative, it just makes you slightly more European.

Over the summer, my brother wanted a MacBook, and I wanted a new iPod, but neither of us wanted to pay full price, so we pulled a fast one over my good friend Dorian or Christoffer or whatever douchebag Mac guy was working there that day and got ourselves a student deal.  As the student in question, I had to pretend to be looking for a computer for myself and was ever-so convincing in my “Ooh wow, this is exactly the program I need to write my essays on, I can’t explain it, but somehow the Mac version of Microsoft Word is better than the Microsoft version, despite being a carbon copy… maybe it’s just me, it just seems so intuitive.  Oops, I’m so bad at using these computer mice, what did I just click?  Oh, iPhoto!  Finally I can remove red-eye from all of my portraits, a feature not available on any other free post-processing program.  What’s that?  I can send these photos through email with a click of a button?!  That’s PERFECT, because I have tons of friends who use Macs, and now we’ll all be hanging out together more to keep an eye on the upcoming Apple Keynote, and now I can send them pictures of myself that I took with this camera–and stretched into a goofy face! Whoops, there I go again, closing out of windows when I’m just trying to find the File button!”  Meanwhile, Dorian’s losing his shit and his Indiana Jones hat over being in the presence of a Mac Virgin.

Once back home, I believe I said something to my brother like, “There, enjoy your devil’s machinery.” I don’t need no GarageBand, I don’t need it to be syncing my files at every second of everyday, and I certainly don’t need no fancy screensavers.  If there is one fault of the iPod, it’s that it’s an Apple product, which means that at any point, Apple can stop me from using it: they can force me to download an update that will prevent me from, say, downloading outside the United States (something I’ve avoided thus far).  That’s just crazy ridiculous, and I don’t like the feeling of Steve Jobs being inside my purse.  I don’t trust that shit.

Monday in lecture, my fears were realized.  For whatever reason, the most Englishy English class (“The Book,” a historical remembrance of the book, physically and textually, gag me with a spoon) has been situated in a computer lab.  But not just any computer lab–a MAC LAB.  Full of sleek screens and no harddrive in sight.  How do they work, then? I wondered.  From where does their power stem?

A handout was passed around, and I was flipping through its pages as the lecturer read.

“I’m just going to point out some of the tricky spots of Old English, because you’ll be coming across them a lot.  So the first line says–”

“HELLO, EVERYBODY.”

I reeled away from my computer, shielding myself with the handout.  The voice had boomed from wherever the Apple speakers are on my monitor.  The class looked at me and laughed at the timing of the voice.

“I have no idea,” I said, turning down the audio.

We continued on while I vaguely wondered what browser I might have opened to elicit that message.  Minutes went by and we all went on to silently read online–all silent, that is, except my computer, which proceeded to shout, “HEY.  Z, Z, Z.”

“What?” I cried, glancing at the corner with the sound controls: it had been returned to full volume.

Some people grew more amused, others less at my Mac’s expressions of general affability.  “SOUNDS GREAT,” it said, and here’s where I truly began to panic.  Where was it learning these messages?  I grabbed my phone–was it reading my texts?!  No, no messages yet.  I’d quickly checked my Trinity email–was it reading those?!  Didn’t seem to be.  But how was I to be sure?  If it could control the volume against my wishes, what was to stop it from broadcasting personal messages?

I logged off the computer and moved to the next one, giving the bewildered girl across from me an even more bewildered headshake.  “Don’t go on that one,” I said, setting my notes down.

And as I did so, the computer, now completely logged off, said, “HELP.”

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU GIVE YOUR TECHNOLOGY TOO MUCH INTUITION.

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“You know what I want more than anything?”

“What?”

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I have no idea how many days I’ve been wearing this underwear, and I haven’t bothered to put on a shirt today.  All I’m eating is Special K and Lindt truffles I got for Christmas, because I’m too all over the place and busy to go grocery shopping.  I still haven’t unpacked my suitcase since getting back last week.  I use a literary anthology as a pillow.

I better not let my work pile up this high ever again.  This is freshman year bullshit, I should be able to better manage my time by now.  Four long essays due tomorrow, and I haven’t finished one of them.  But once they’re done, I’m golden.  It’s funny how once classes begin here, the work stops.  Life in Ireland is awesomebackwards.

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