There's A Cartoon on TV Right Now About A Superhero Who Kills Paedophiles!
It's true!
I'm currently enjoying all the fruits of my church pastor's house. He and his family are off escaping their pastoral responsibilities in Donegal, and me and K get to house sit. OH YEAH. The best bit for K is that they have all the tv channels, not just the four gay Irish ones. (NO DES I DON'T HATE IRISH TELEVISION. SOME OF MY BEST FRIENDS ARE IRISH TELEVISION.) The best bit for me is the wireless internet access (writing this journal entry from BED, I'm digging it) and also the rather excellent wine they left us. Mmm, winey.
The last few days have scored highly on the funscale. I won't give you all the gory details because one man 's fun is another man's skim reading (where I write "man" I do of course mean "person". I don't want any more complaint letters from Marilyn French.)
Basically K and I and two other friends climbed into D's Nissan Micra and went driving round the country with no particular agenda. The aim was to forget about life for a while, a la Billy Joel (which song though?). I think we succeeded. Our adventures involved the Hill of Tara, a funfair, much eating in manky eateries, Galway, my parents house in the northwest, slot machines, beaches, a lot of rain, and a lot of sub par music on random tapes purchased in Eurosaver shops.
All in all...fantastic.
Today though was really rather less fun. Well, no actually, it was a lot of fun. But it was sad.
A dear friend of mine is leaving the country this week, permanently, it seems, because of circumstances she can't affect (nobody can), and we spent a very sad and memorable day together, in that strange state between crying and laughing where either was likely to happen at any moment. She's returning to South America in four days time, which feels to me right now like another planet.
We went for a special lunch in a wonderful restaurant where instead of lamenting her departure, we celebrated having met and become friends. We sat on the steps of one of the buildings on Kildare street in the early evening sunlight, deserted because of the bank holiday and the marathon, and prayed quietly together for the future.
Man, I really love that girl.
Hrm.
If you can excuse my language for once, life really is a fucking bitch.
Posted by neuro-praxis on October 25, 2004 11:13 PM, in the category Mouldy Curtains