Last night on House there was a dude with 'locked-in syndrome'. Basically, he was alive but his brain couldn't signal to his body to do move. It's different to being paralysed or in a coma. All he could do was think and talk inside his own head, but to the outside world and everyone in it, he may as well have been in Madame Tussauds wax museum.

This got me thinking, don't we all have 'locked-in syndrome' sometimes? That's why therapy is so super popular in our screwed-up western bubble. Everybody has secrets, everybody lies and nobody's normal. If people don't talk to a therapist with signed confidentiality agreements, all the lies and secrets are locked in and can mess with your mind. You would start to feel like you're screaming and nobody can hear you, like everybody around you are idiots because they don't understand you and eventually you would give up. Exactly like the TV show.

Fascinating.

And a P.S. I don't have 'locked-in syndrome'. Yeah I'm not normal, I have secrets and sure I lie, but I have the J-man to talk to. And even when I try to keep it in, He knows everything anyways. There is no escape and when the whole wide world stops being too smart for their own good, and accepts God for his wonderfulness, therapists are going to be out of a job big style.

It's frustrating when you can see that you're friends are frustrated and you aren't in a position to help or fix things because you yourself are struggling. You look forward to a point in time when you have the means to achieve all you're made for but you don't look forward to next week. You want nothing more than to go back in time for one day when Sunday nights weren't an unwanted burden. Or go back in time to intern @ Camp Peace for one more day.

I've been reading about how we, as humans, are addicted to ourselves. Our 'self' is the most dangerous drug out there and satisfying the addiction is alot tougher than a pill or an injection or a snort. But in my situation, I choose to argue this point which fascinated me when I first read it. I need to focus on me, and being happy with me as I am and my personal relationships with God and stop focusing on all the external factors that I blame for not being happy. How much importance do you place on the acceptance of the people who walk in and out of your life? How much importance should be placed on worldy acceptance? Where is the fine line between self-acceptance and arrogance and how do I get there?

On a complete tangent and as a desperate attempt to change the direction in which this post is headed, Jenson Button won the Australian GP today. 3 weeks ago, he didn't even know if he had a drive for the season. Being on the starting grid in Australia seemed like a long shot never mind winning the bloody thing with your team mate right behind in second place. Last year in Canada, I didn't follow the season because it definitely wasn't such a big deal and I had no Formula 1 buddies to be hardcore with. But this isn't Canada anymore and I'm excited.

A beautiful sunny morning in Lisburn, a guilt-free lie in, big mug of coffee and fresh bagel with cream cheese with House on TV to stir up the brain cells. Today I will finish my book and write a short story with a happy ending Disney would be proud of.

Hold on. The sun just disappeared behind a cloud and the heavens opened, the room is quite dark and cold now. The torrential rain is messing with the satellite and I miss one of Hugh Laurie's classic lines. It all happened so quickly.

Hey the sun is back with his hat on. Carefree viewing resumes, coffee is a little luke-warm but who cares, it's a beautiful day just like Bono says. I have to go for a walk and read outside, I'll quickly put some shoes on.

Downstairs and ready to go and it is flipping raining again. Really hard. I can't take it anymore. Several sufferers of seasonal disorders have dropped dead in NI because their brains exploded from confusion.

All this madness happened in a matter of 30mins. What I'm trying to say is ROLL ON SUMMER. Noah, take back your torrential rain and Mr. Sun can set up house for a few months rent-free.

My word it is awesome to be Irish this weekend. We just nailed the rugby grand slam beating every other side and it was magic. The streets were dead from 5pm, with everyone safely on the sofa in anticipation of what was sure to be a nail biting 80mins of scrums and tackles, O'Gara and O'Driscoll and the boys bringing it home. Ireland vs Wales. Six Nations final.

Unfortunately I was chaperoning a bloody 24hr table tennis marathon so was only able to catch the last 15mins but holy crap, what a time to tune in. 12-14 to Ireland. A little close for comfort wouldn't you say? Wales are strong, passing like a game of hot potato and one dude just storms through like Hercules, hardly touched. A drop kick and the welsh score. 15-14 to Wales. Crap. Devastating but, not for long because one trademark kick later from O'Gara and it's all good once again. 15-17 to Ireland. 3mins left on the clock. Ireland are defending hard, so hard that a bloody penalty is rewarded to Wales and I swear the whole emerald isle is silent. It's a straight, long distance kick. The Welsh No.10 hasn't missed once the whole game. This could be the end and we're all crowded round a shitty reception TV in the church basement wondering how we are going to deal with it if we lose? He steps back. He runs up. He kicks. It's heading the right way.....

just not far enough boyo! Ye missed and we win the grand slam. Dublin is going to be explosive and we aint going to shut up about this one for a long time.

Why do we cry? No other mammals cry. I'm not talking about basal reflex tears scientifically necessary for survival, but emotional tears produced in responsed to sadness, stress or physical pain. Could there not have been another, less conspicuous way to respond to emotion. Drueling out your eye isn't attractive. Maybe a nice smelling odour could come out of your pores or your skin could glow or your hair could shine.

Every couple of weeks, Nikki and I get together and cry at Greys anatomy. And we enjoy it. It's sick. We go to country kitchen for a dirty fry-up, mug of coffee and glass of OJ then we curl up on the sofa, pull the blinds to block out sunlight and get in touch with our feelings. Then we complain about not exercising enough, make a pact to do some the following week and it never happens. I guess it is some kind of therapy.

Hello blog world. We've been going through a dry spell lately but hopefully the change in Irish weather is permanent and inspiration will come a-knocking any day now. Meanwhile I will continue to watch House, and settle into a new routine. A routine of an employed variety. That's right folks, Debs went and got herself a job. One with money and everything. You are reading the blog of the new supervisor of the new after-school program at Wallace's prepatory dept. A brand new group of kids to pass my invaluable wisdom onto. And soon we will be able to share funny kid stories again.

But, for those of you who believe in karma, every silver lining is balanced with darkness and this week that would be child protection training. If I miss it this time, they will take me outside the city walls and throw rocks at me. But if I go, I risk losing one too many brain cells and living out the remainder of my days as a vegetable. Child protection is necessary, I get it, but people setting out the rules here are 2 spanners short of a full toolbox if you know what I mean.

1. Only use one eye to look at a child. Two will suggest you actually give a crap.

2. If a child approaches for an embrace of some description, curl up into the foetal position to ensure minimal contact and signal to other leaders that a line is about to be crossed.

3. NEVER be honest with the child. If they ever find out you're not perfect, they may resort to various forms of criminal activity and a lifetime of therapy and that is your fault.

4. There must be 7.5 leaders to every 2 children present.

Hey, I should be the church child protection officer.

"On a bad day I have mood swings, but on a good day, I have the whole mood playground"~Charles Rosenbaum

I walked into the foyer of church today, early for a change, and saw everybody wearing little purple ribbons. Within seconds of noticing, there was a basket in my face full of the same little purple ribbons and a letter from the leaders of the prebyterian church Ireland. It is a little purple ribbon that represents peace, a little sign that we aren't prepared for things to go back to the way that they used to be. Teamed with a sermon that preached community and planting little seeds of peace everywhere we go and it felt a good. Community is a comfort word for me. But I was also comforted by everybodies reaction to the real IRA attacks last week. I'm comforted that people are responding, openly admitting and showing that they are scared and that politicians are speaking out against it.

I'm a little scared. I'm scared that they found over 60 bullet shells on the scene. I'm scared that there were police cars at every junction on my way home last night. And I'll wear my little purple ribbon until I'm not so scared.

My grannie is old, and gets confused alot. Sometimes it's funny, like when she puts salt on her dinner with a TV remote, but at other times it's really uncomfortable because you remember the times she could chase you round the garden after she caught you playing cops and robbers in her greenhouse. Sometimes she is pleasantly confused and can laugh at herself and at others she is frustrated and lonely, probably feels like nobody can understand her. We all know what that feels like on some level.

We don't appreciate the mind God has blessed with us. It is alot more technically advanced than an iphone but it's the iphone everyone is talking about. Our intelligence, our memories, our ability to know everyone and everything by name and our ability to ask questions in order to learn and evolve as people is a miracle. It's something we may not always have so make the most of it when you do. I just pray that whatever happens my mind, that the faith instilled in my heart will always remain in tact.

I had planned to sit down and write a totally awesome post today, now that I am feeling healthy again and grabbing life by the balls. But I bought a bag of grapes earlier because I had mad cravings. I just opened and had one to inspire my brainly juices.

They taste gross.

Symptoms: Fever, sore throat, severe fatigue, swollen glands

Diagnosis A: Tonsilitis

Diagnosis B: Glandular Fever aka mono/kissing disease. (Peeps keep telling me I have a problem with all the kissing and the boys but I'm not ready to admit just yet)

Treatment A: Penicillin, the mother of all antibiotics. Props to Flemings.

Treatment B: NONE, its a friggin virus.

As I lie on the sofa in rage, contemplating 4-6 weeks of discomfort and social arrest, I have to wonder whats round the next bend on life's path? Probably a big double decker bus with no brakes.

4 sofa-happy days later, I have re-discovered 2 greatnesses of the past. First is Mr Robbie Williams and sing when you're winning. Arrogant moron but amazing record. Second is Jesse Spencer aka Billy Kennedy. I crushed out on this dude so bad back in the day when Neighbours was the australian soap of choice so imagine the nostalgia when I started watching House this week as a distraction to the rage outbursts and find him there. Dr Rob Chase. Hot accent, great hair, pretty face and a white lab coat.

Cue dreamy music and Scrubs-like day dream.....