I Don’t Care Anymore

In the past couple of weeks I haven’t accomplished much (study wise) because Netflix exists and The Front Door  opened a new Gin bar and now I’m stressing out a little, but that’s okay. I mean, I’m not entirely proud of my addictive personality and tendency to procrastinate/binge, but I’m okay with it. I’m okay with me. You see, something strange happened to me recently, and I think we need to talk about it.

It was a regular morning in the life of the Tull-Meister. A regular morning, until the mirror.
*Example of regular morning in life of Tull-Meister: Wake up with beautiful Italian ride of a man beside me, and an even more beautiful dawn outside my huge window. Feel totally rested, all set for anything or anyone the day can throw at me. Jump out of my king sized bed, ready for my fifty minutes of morning yoga with Pier (French personal trainer/life guru). Take shower in my all marble bathroom. (The bathroom is the size of an average childhood bedroom, and I love the way my angelic voice echoes off the marble when I sing….)*

I think I was singing something Whitney Houston that morning, only a little better than her – but I can’t be sure, it was just a regular morning… As I looked at my wonderful blemish free skin in the mirror, I remember thinking: “Wow, I look incredible!! It must be all the delicious kale and other very green things that I absolutely love eating…”

Okay. So maybe I have been watching a little too much Netflix, and that is not exactly how a regular morning pans out for Tull-Meister… but it was indeed, a regular morning. Until the mirror.

So there I was. On this regular morning. Being my regular self. Ready to start my regular make-up and getting dressed in under seven minutes routine. It was a real Galway kind of morning – cold and crisp with potential of clearing, sleet with a chance of snow, with some sun threatening a heat wave. The toes on a pair of slightly scruffy boots peaked out longingly at me from the bottom shelf. I stared back pensively at them… It was what one may refer to as “having a moment”.

Like many things that have been deemed unstylish, the boots are a particularly comfortable boot, perfect for Galway weather – my elegant and stylish granny once called them “practical” in the special bubble-wrap way grannies have of never ever hurting our feelings. I have a very steady relationship with the boots. But, as I said – unstylish. I’m probably (definitely) not hipster enough to pull them off with the black New Look pinafore dress I was sporting.

But then it happened. I had another moment.

I took out the boots, put them on, and stood in front of the mirror. They looked slightly outrageous … I looked slightly outrageous. A smile grew on my face.
I don’t care, I thought. I DON’T CARE.

After the mirror incident, I danced out the door, and feeling lighter after my realisation, walked to college. Along the way, I looked down at my comfortable little feet and started to doubt myself … was I going a bit mad? Or even worse, was I turning into some kind of wanna-be hipster? I mean, I am extremely intelligent, witty and progressive… But I’m just not edgy enough to pull off the effortlessly cool look. And, even worse, my vision is perfect, and my budget is low – there is no way I could afford some thick rimmed glasses…
Was I simply getting too carried away with my liberal arts degree? Was I going to start telling people that I study “orts”, not “arts”? Was I going to grow a beard…?

I thought about turning back and changing into something a little more …mainstream, but I was already late and I was just so damn comfortable. Before I knew it, I was in college. And you will never guess what happened when I got in there….

Absolutely nothing!

It was just a regular day. I was studying “arts” in NUIG (where there is absolutely no dress code), I was comfortable, and I didn’t care. The more steps I took through NUIG campus in my magic boots, the less I cared.

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The less I cared about the boots, the more time I had to care about what I was really in college for.

So, I decided to start applying my new way of life to everything I possibly could. Each day brought more and more things that I don’t care about to my attention… and now I am a truly enlightened being!

I decided to take a sabbatical from time sucking Instagram. I sat at the front of a philosophy lecture and asked questions. I declined an invitation to the college bar by simply telling the person “I don’t want to go”. I told somebody else to stop sending me “streaks” on snapchat, what age are we?! I didn’t smile at that ignorant bus driver. I wore gym leggings to do my grocery shopping – sure I may as well get the use out of them.

Basically, since that magic mirror moment of realising I don’t care anymore, my quality of life has improved. It sounds so basic – probably because it is- but, somewhere along the way, I was socially conditioned into caring about these irrelevant little things, and it seems I was wasting my time. Now, I haven’t reached the waking up with Mr. Italian, doing yoga and eating very green food all the time perfect life… In fact, I haven’t accomplished much more than finishing series on Netflix in the past few days, but I’m okay with all of that. I’m okay with me. Now that I have stopped wasting time caring about other silly things, I can afford a Netflix binge now and again.

You should try it. Tell me what you don’t care about.
(I’m joking – don’t tell me. I don’t care).

Some Recent Life Changing Decision’s

I was lounging in my dressing gown last night, googling pictures of your man that played Nate in The Devil Wear’s Prada, when I started to think about decisions. You see, Nate was feckin’ gorgeous – with a more dangerous kind of look than the striking James Bond type, he was cute and ordinary looking enough to make you believe that maybe even you could find him at the bar in Electric some night. But Nate was also a big baby! Remember he threw that strop in the movie when he thought his birthday was more important than his girlfriend’s writing career?! Ugh. So, as I sat there in my dressing gown, I stopped drooling, and came to a decision.

Image result for nate the devil wears prada
“If I ever happen to have a boyfriend with a mop of curls you’d love to bring home to Mammy, I won’t let him come between me and my writing… even if he does have ice cool blue eyes that would cure the worst of hangovers” I decided.

This got me thinking about all the other decisions that I have made recently, and how they have altered my life. For example, last week I decided to buy myself a stapler, and my life has never felt more together.

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Last month, I decided to replace binge watching Netflix with binge reading books. The month before that, when I was getting nostalgic for strong eight year old Tull-Meister who could take on her brothers in a wrestling match, I decided to exercise with a goal to become strong rather than to “stay in shape”. (Now, I’m not exactly a gym bunny. I’m more of a let’s sit in a café with scones and books kind of bunny, so this decision was never going to be an easy one. The majority of my workout attempts have involved me sweating and screaming in the style of a movie birth-scene, rather than a fun fitness video. But there is a lot of hope that I will be wresting my brothers like back in the 90’s very soon).
Now, before I go off on a tangent about how learning to wrestle your brothers is actually lot healthier than exercising to become a certain size (the daft idea of constantly striving for weight loss is simply female oppression if you ask me!)… There’s one particular decision I made this academic year that changed my life, and I think we need to talk it.

I moved out of my student accommodation, and into a palace.

When I say palace, I mean my aunts beautiful home, with a dishwasher, heating, and lots of other complete novelties that do not exist in the realm of student accommodation.

Image result for palace bedroom (my new bedroom)

Since my aunt (who is beautiful, warm and tidy, just like her house) took me in, I don’t know myself! It was an adjustment at first, because I am essentially a house guest, and house guests are … weird. They are basically friendly spies – going around your home, collecting information about you, like if you shower daily or not, and taking note of that Wine for Dummies book you bought in the airport seven years ago. They are intrusions to a person’s primary territory – and I think that is why our natural instinct is to not allow them to stay any longer than a couple of nights. So, I tried my best to fit into my aunts primary territory, and not appear like a spy at all, by doing the things that she does, like talking about work and general adult life.

“Kev in my work office is really annoying me” I’d begin.
“Caoimhe, you work in a coffee shop, with all girls….”
“Oh yes, ammm sorry, the stock market has got me all frazzled. Would you like to go … lampshade shopping some day?”
When she looked at me like my head had turned into an actual lampshade, I realised I had to come up with a better way of convincing her that I could be an adult, that I could fit in.

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So, I did what all experts would advise in these scenarios, and wrote down a list of my strengths.

1. I make a great lemon sponge.
2. I don’t listen to reggae music (much).
3. I follow Home and Away religiously.
4. I’m a good sturdy build (I can’t borrow/steal slim aunts clothes).
5. I can write.
I have since learnt that lemon sponge loses its novelty quite quickly, and that sometimes a simple “thank you” can do the job. (If not, it might help to write about it).