Over it.

Ok. I'm over Ireland.

Everything closes by 6 p.m.

I mean, even in the middle of nowhere in the States, things are open 'til 8 or 10 or even open all night. So why is it that I'm in a city environment and I can't eat or shop after 6?

Over it.

Jet Lag Is for the Weak

Psh, I don't believe that jet lag is real.

I mean, I believe that being really tired from being awake and traveling for twenty-four hours exists, but jet lag is for whiny people and stuff. Though I am having trouble knowing what day it is... but when do I know what day it is anyway?

The hostel I'm in is a-dor-a-ble. The room I'm in has a slanting blue wall surrounded by white walls. There's one long window on the slanted wall which overlooks a row of houses with gardens. I'm not sure that the girl I've met who is staying in the same room as me really speaks English. I asked her name, and she said something that sounded like "Bonjour," but she doesn't speak French. She's Turkish. I asked if there was someone else staying in the room, and she pointed to the other occupied bed and said "USA."

I spent the day wandering around Dun Laoghaire. I walked near the sea. And there was this great, black bird standing out on a rock in the sea (similar to lions who stand on chairs in the middle of the ocean) with its wings spread at either side. Weird bird. It's this creature. I found out because there was a sign indicating the flora and fauna of the marine area. It also said there were grey seals and porpoises, so with luck, I'll see some marine mammals. And you all know how much I adore marine mammals. If only we could coax a walrus into an Irish field trip.

The down-town area of Dun Laoghaire is not far away. I bought an Irish prepay cell phone so that I'll have access to emergency services if I need them. I asked what the emergency number was when I bought the phone; I guess you can use 911, 999, or 112. Then I had some mushroom soup and jasmine tea at a little yellow cafe. And at the cafes here, they give you a big pot of tea. Not just a little cup of hot water with a tea bag.

I spent some time in the lounge of the hostel. There seem to be several people here from Brazil. One of them doesn't speak English too well, though he was trying, so we played Google Translate. And who doesn't love Google Translate?

It can teach you that no comida para tu perro despues la medianoche antes cirugia.

True story.

Airplane Delirium/Reflections without Sleep

Things that I’ve learned:

• Clouds are the weirdest things ever. They look so fluffy. I just want to snuggle into them. But then there are the clouds that look like giant snow-covered sleddin’ hills. I’m not sure if looking down on clouds or looking up at them is better.
• If I were a giant, I would eat cloud and ocean soup every day. I’d just take my giant wooden spoon and stir the clouds into the water.
• I may be a moth; I’m mesmerized by lights.
• British children are good at being adorable. Seen at the airport: a little girl said to her mother, “Mummy, can we cheers with our plates?” And then they bumped their plates together.
• Immigration offices are like the DMV. Since I’ll be here for more than three months, I had to go to the immigration office to get a passport stamp. The process includes taking a ticket and waiting for 40 other people’s ticket numbers to be called before yours. And it takes over 9000 years for that to happen. Then they take a picture of you, take your passport, and make you pay €150. Then you have to wait another 20 minutes while they create a you-can-stay-in-the-country “Certificate of Registration.” It’s one of those fancy-pants cards, too. It’s hard plastic like a credit card or a driver’s license. It has one of those chips on it. And your picture. And your picture is going to be awful because you’ve been awake for an unknown number of hours, you haven’t showered since you left America, and they didn’t tell you why they were taking your picture. But, hey, now I have an Irish ID.
• I need American toilets back in my life. These European ones freak me out. The flushy hole is larger than that to which I am accustomed, and the width of the flushy hole makes me think that the chances of a rat coming out of the toilet to eat me, which is one of my most legitimate fears, increases tenfold.
• My rainboots are called “Wellies” here. I think I already knew that since I was able to recall that it’s short for Wellingtons (unless I made that up), but I was reminded of it. I spent my two million year long lay-over talking to an Illinoisan who was born and raised in Ireland.
• The tomato soup in Ireland is delicious.
• Where am I supposed to store all these one and two euro coins?
• Walking around Dublin for five hours will lead to the worst foot cramp you’ve ever experienced.
• This is going to be one of those places where I need a coat when I’m doing very light activity,  but I’ll burn if I do anything but walk for three seconds.
• I don’t fancy going into that bathroom to have a shower due to my fear of rats popping out of the drains, but I am a severely smelly American.
• I haven’t the slightest idea of how to work the shower in my room. Seriously. How does this work? I don’t understand what I’m supposed to do. Are all showers in Ireland like this? There are two separate knobs for a bath. Then there’s some thingy on the wall beneath the shower head. It’s kind of like a light dimmer or a kitchen timer. Do I turn the bath water on and then turn that thingy? I do not understand, sir. I need the googles, but the internet is all the way downstairs.
• I figured it out. You turn the big knob to the left to turn on the water, then you turn the little kitchen-timer thingy to adjust the temperature. So now I’m clean.
• When I planned this trip, I neglected to consider the fact that I’m mildly crazy and tend to think I’m being attacked by ghosts or ax murders whenever I hear any noise.
• I love how tea is everywhere. What with it being my favorite thing.

I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane

Don't know when I'll be back again.

... Ok, I'll be back December 27th or something like that.

If delays are kept to a minimum, I'll be in Dublin in roughly 24 hours. I think. I haven't really sat down and done the time zone conversion math, but I think it's about 24 hours. I should be there at 9:30 Dublin time, so... I dunno.

Oh, and I decided that I simply cannot (walk into Mordor?) bring the final two Harry Potter books with me. They're too heavy. So I'm just bringing HBP, and I'll have to buy the Bloomsbury version of DH while I'm over there. How terribly dreadful?

Salvador Dali

Let's warp reality like Mr. Dali. Spindly legged elephants, melting clocks, and moving to Ireland in five days.

The bizarrity of the situation obscures the excitement thereof. I'll begin my travel in roughly four days and six hours.

And it's only a weird dream so far.

Everybody and everybody's mom seems concerned that I haven't a place to live yet. Bah to them. I'm not to that point yet. I'll figure it out when I get there.

After all, making plans is the primary cause of failed plans.

In the words of my favorite local-ish band, Sneaky Gene, "Let the road take us wherever it's going instead of wasting time deciding which way to go." I'm not entirely sure that neglecting to plan for an adventure across the world was what they had in mind while writing the song, but that's the beauty and downfall of language, isn't it? Words can be twisted and warped to meet the needs of any situation.

If only I had an advance guard coming to escort me to Ireland; then Nymphadora Tonks could magic everything I need to pack into my bags.

But I never did get my Hogwarts acceptance letter, so I guess I'll have to pack the old fashioned way: wait until the last minute and then throw everything I can grab into a bag.

Procrastination, bro.

How do buses work?

Seriously.

How does one operate a bus?

I peace out of the USA to Dublin in 11 days, and my primary concern is that I have no idea how to navigate public transportation. I come from a cornfield. We do not have buses in my cornfield. We do not have trains in my cornfield. We have good, old-fashioned American cars. And we have to walk 10 miles, up-hill (both ways), in the snow, barefoot, to get to the nearest store.

My second concern is not a normal-person concern. I have never been away from my teddy bear, Theodore Bear, for more than one month. And I'm going to be away from him for four months. That is a long time to be away from a teddy bear. What if he gets lonely? Who is going to protect me from ax murderers? Everyone knows that teddy bears defend against all kinds of monsters and mayhem-makers during the night. I can't bring him with me, because he's much too large to pack. He would take up at least a quarter (maybe half) of my packing space. I don't want to have him sent through the mail, because he will surely get lost in the mail and I'll never see him again and my life will be over and I'll be eaten by banshees during the night. And I'm gonna be at least 98723974294802 kilometers (whatever that means in American) from Theodore Bear for four whole months. I'm definitely going to die in my sleep.

And the metric system.

I am American. I do not know how to metric. I mean, I know how to work within the metric system. I can do metric system math and science. But I have no metric reference points. I don't know how far 20 km is. I have no idea how much 35 kg is. And then the difference in temperature scales. Celsius is dumb and I hate it and I demand that everyone in the world recognize that Fahrenheit is superior to Celsius. Sure, Celsius might make more sense mathematically, but I hate it. It should be hit by one of those buses I don't know how to work. Why? Because I don't have reference points in Celsius.

As far as teaching goes, my primary concern is the difference in spelling between American English and the-rest-of-the-world-English. When do I insert a "u?" When do I replace "z" with "s?" These children are all gonna be like, "YOU MISSPELLED THAT WORD." No I didn't. You just don't speak Americanese.

Oh, and I suppose I should probably start packing or something sometime soon...