Oh, I do love to say, I am finished with the blasted, cursed Irish. I don't have to see a silly piece of stair na gaeilge arís go deo na deora, mo stór. Ach, ní mór dom a rá, nach bhfuil mo ghaeilge go h-ainnis, ach fós níl sé ar fheabhas fresin. Don't get me wrong, I think its a lovely language and we should be proud of our culture and our past, but lets say not as proud of our literary past please. Forcing teenagers, who are barely capable of holding a conversation with a gaelgóir, to learn and discuss poetry is ridiculous. So I'm done!
Piece by piece i will discover who I am. I do like to pretend I could be great in the future, but perhaps I should be content with good. But, whats good? I'll never be great as far as I am concerned, because once you become great, the war is over. And rather like "nineteen eighty-four", we need a continuous symbolic war to ensure the control and command of one's soul.
Next time we speak dear blog, I will try and explain how I discussed the passions and idealism raged a teenager's soul!
SIlly english papers no?
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