Friday, April 13, 2012

The wedding of the second sibling

So I started looking back over this blog (yes, I am that bored) and I thought it was kinda sweet how my younger self used to write little updates on all that was happening, even though my life seems to comprise only of emo song lyrics, attempts at arty pictures, and anecdotes of how messy my bedroom is. So, it's been a while and I suppose there are a few things that are kinda of actually worth mentioning...

...like my sister's wedding?

Yes, believe it my friends, my little sister (height wise that is) is married to a man who is a rather good catch.

I got to play bridesmaid again, and in keeping with tradition, I got so horrendously drunk that Jade had to put me to bed. But I'm jumping the gun here... I should go back to the start.


The wedding of the second sibling

It was like some giant, universal shape selector had scoured Great Britain in search of humans that fitted the genetic criteria of a Sweeney, myself included, and had delivered them all to a hotel (of a standard above Travelodge but not quite Hilton) where we attempted to make smalltalk, despite some of us having never even met (or not seen for over a decade). So you can picture the scene, a motley crew of humans all with the common feature that is DNA, and a shared interest of seeing one of our own be married off.

Me and Jade were supposed to be sharing an air bed on my sister's floor that night, but we scored and upgrade to a hotel room. So we did the wise thing and retired early to our cosy room. Ha, yea right, actually we stayed up gossiping with my cousin until the wee hours and eventually tipsily fell into bed and then felt like death the next day having to jump in a taxi after only 4 hours sleep.

Anyway, at my sister's house all was surprisingly calm, my hair got tamed by the hairdresser and luckily my dress still fitted despite my recent Easter Egg consumption.

A lovely service in the church, where I talked to lots of people as though they were old friends even though I had no idea who they were, and it was all very beautiful as Claire left behind the single life.

Skip forward and we are at the reception. 3 bottles of wine later and it's all a bit of a blur. I seem to remember telling my sister how much I loved her (I mean, a long, heartfelt, slurred speech), Andy telling me how he is now my brother, and me agreeing with Claire that she was to Facebook poke me once she'd managed to shed her V cards (yes, I certainly know how to lower the tone of a wedding!).

I danced. A lot. I requested about a hundred songs from the DJ. Then apparently I staggered around the lobby before getting a taxi back to my sister's, although I don't recollect these things I'm told.

The next morning, looking like death, I appeared back at the hotel and ate a fish finger sandwich (you know you're still drunk when...) then eventually went home while Claire was already halfway to New York.

That is as abridged as I can mange.

Saturday, January 21, 2012

time


Time, it’s all about time. Live revolves around it, it dictates everything. We live by the clock, we can’t speed it up and we can’t slow it down. The ticking never stops; the hands never stop moving. We have too much of it, but we don’t have enough of it. Every breath we take finds itself on some never-ending timeline that extends from the moment the cells form into a foetus to the moment our cells re-join the earth as dust. And even then, we only slot into one much bigger and greater timeline of which our humble hours on this earth only impinge as much as we allow ourselves to achieve. Time stops for no one.

Then we meet another soul, who has their own timeline. Paths cross, hours are spent together, and eventually your time continues to tick, as does theirs, as does everybody’s, but their time is no longer any of your business. A brief collision of lives that can change the course of your entire life’s collection of passed seconds, but is gone before you even have the time to understand it all.

It’s bizarre, this time thing. Take any moment in your existence and press the proverbial pause button, and you’ll see that time is not at all as linear as our timelines would suggest. Memories, flashbacks, images of the past, stand alive in our minds, as real as the moment they were lived. The future, imaginations and visions of what could, or what will be, flashing by behind your eyes, as neurons fire and thought processes are triggered. Who you are, right in any moment, is defined by events and instances that can’t be erased, can’t be unimagined.

Time is a healer, they say. Give anything time and eventually the emotions that are entwined with that anything fade away and you can begin to rebuild a world. But there comes the problem of waiting, the pain of waiting, the torment of letting the hours slip by, knowing that it could all be in vain anyway, that these feelings might actually never die. But I prefer to believe those that tell me time heals. I prefer to imagine it will all be better once the plaster of time has covered up what is actually the reality of this moment.