Dear Whoever – Read Some Self-Help Here.


It’s Self-Help, J-Ro style.

Fuck kale. Fuck Fitspo. Fuck falsehood. Fuck Snapchat glam-shots. Everything ‘outside’ is fake. Enjoy it, but don’t believe any of it for a second. Dip your toe in and out, go for a full-on swim, but don’t let yourself drown in it.

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Are You Prepared To Go It Alone?

If You Don’t Land The Perfect Relationship, Will You Still Be Okay?

Have you ever envisioned your time in this world ultimately being a solo adventure? Or, to put it more dramatically – are you prepared to end up alone?

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The Set-In-My-Ways Danger Zone


Something hit me recently, and it wasn’t a joyous revelation. I realised that I may have developed a wee crush on someone.

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Not Just An Annual Feeling…

Here’s the thing about marking the anniversaries of people who have died; the date is more for the outside world to give you a pass on an outpouring of grief. I feel the same way today as I did the day my Mom died; I’m just allowed to show it on the outside today far more than any other day in the year. Our grief has got to be as pigeon-holed, socially speaking, as any other of our human emotions. I won’t speak for anyone else, but I’m sure there are times when anyone in a state of grief has wanted to throw down & bawl like an abandoned toddler for the gaping cavernous loss they feel when someone in their immediate world has died, but society being what it is has dictated ‘Thus Far and No Further’ when it comes to public grieving…lest it make others uncomfortable. Fuck that. Being human is to be bereft when a connection is broken.

It’s not a judgement by any means; rather an observation. The world would not function if we all gave in to our base instincts to keen and moan 24/7 for the loss of our loved ones – rather this post is to remind us that even if only show our pain but once a year, it remains hidden the other 364 days in the calendar. It is no less sorrowful or aching to the soul; it’s just that on an anniversary, we are permitted (by ourselves & others) to grieve aloud once more. We are all dealing with a pain on some level – our duty as fully functional humans in today’s modern society is to realise that nothing is EVER what it seems. It may be acceptable for someone to grieve loudly & publicly on a certain date; that doesn’t mean that someone isn’t living with that gaping pain today as freshly as the day their whole world became one perfect soul less.

My Mom is gone 3 years ago today. What I feel in 2016 about losing her is no less emotionally crippling than the day I watched her slip away as we held her hand & bore witness to her transition. It’s still raw, debilitating and terrifying. I have felt those since the day she died, and I’ll feel it all until the day I join her in the ground. But today the Universe has given me permission , on the basis of the calendar being favourable, to deal with it however way I want.

So if anyone’s looking for me this Sunday, I’ll be with my other similarly grieving family members having dinner, sharing stories about the O’ Donnell – Ronan Matriarch that make us laugh & cry in equal measure, getting drunk at varying levels of appropriateness to deal with the relentless unsympathetic passage of time, culminating with a final salutation; honoring how long we’ve had to function without her, how we’re all doing great despite the gaping hole in our souls where she and her unique madness should be.

It’s a rotten toxic crippling bucket of shite, because my Mom SHOULD be here, enjoying her later years with her girlfriends / hobbies and, if there was any justice in the world, a decent man to have a companionship with. But instead we have a grave to look upon, a name to send upwards, a universe to lay to rest in the blackness. So please excuse me if today I crumple up like tin-foil & keen from the bottom of my toes to the top of my manic little head. Someone else will have that liberty another day.

“And on it goes, this thing of ours…” – Paulie Walnuts, The Sopranos

Not For The Faint Of Heart…

I just woke up from the most distressing nightmare.

I was at some sort of get-together at a family friend’s house and when it was time for the usual tea & sammitches I went to the crowded kitchen to get some grub and a hot beverage.

Over by the fridge some mucky-faced young wan was guzzling milk straight from the carton before handing it over for the tea, and a germy young fella with dirt-encrusted hands & fingernails started rifling through the only plate of sandwiches, manhandling each one & opening them up to see what filling they had, only to put them right back on the plate.

I woke up screaming. Food hygiene is nothing to joke about.