When I was seventeen I went to the gaeltacht. The gaeltacht is like a summer camp, in the middle of nowhere where 70-80 teens go and live with host families, go to school, sports, etc and speak ONLY Irish.I went with four lads I was great friends with. But genders can't be mixed. I was living fucking MILES from them. Not only that, as I was the oldest in my house for the first few days [Three more girls were to arrive after a while] IO was Teach Ceannaire. Meaning, head of house. So it was me, two 14 year olds, and 3 13 year olds, miles from my friends. Whats worse? I had brought €70 work of pot but THE LADS HAD IT. So I was fucked off. Really fucked off. As is traditional with the gaeltacht, the food also sucked. basically the bean an ti gives you muck, and loads of bread and jam to fill you, with water and for one evening a week dilute to drink.
Never having been a fan of jam, after about 5 days I said fuck it and decided to just have some. And my life changed forever. How I delscribe it?
It added flavour to my otherwise dull and flavourless life.
For DAYS I had been eating only bread and butter, my tastebuds were crying. And there it was. Saved by the sweetest superhero, strawberry jam.
And then I went to college. Where I had to fend for myself. Where I have lived a bland and flavourless life, eating only pasta and bread, the cheapest foods imaginable. Made that bit more bearable with my good friend jam.
OMNOMNOMNOMNOM.
I want a tiny tattoo of a jam jar.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
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