Wonderfully weird fact: bananas grow in Iceland. So often I want to laugh and drop my jaw in honor of nature's poetry.

Sorry for neglecting you, dear diary. This month has been busy. Aside from all the research (squinting at microfilm all day, so glamorous) and travel (to Leitrim, where I watched, of all things, a bunch of men golf and tell each other their golf philosophies), I had a few deadlines. I had a column published in a major Irish online news source. I also wrote an essay on the utopia of childhood in Moonrise Kingdom for a Cork-based film and video magazine. And I wrote a foreword for a friend whose art exhibition is opening in Dublin on the day before my birthday in September.

Now I must pack for a "boutique" music festival, where I'll be "upcycling" wellies for a friend's booth. Time for a bacchanalia under the stars in a muddy farmer's field. Paging Pan!

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