Scare

It's not over yet, but at least it's less scary now. A very different future might yet be in store. Wait and see, wait and see.

Dear Doctor

Am I creating an expectation subconsciously? You wanted things slow? Now they lack passion. Do you know what you want? Is it my sinister moustache?

May it's that you didn't know what you wanted from me, because it wasn't me you wanted it from. Logical and rational pairing is different from emotional and sexual want and need.

Maybe I'm a more emotional person. I guess you like the idea of me, more than actual me.

Is some part of you terrified of any kind of commitment? A month in the future is too much, it sets off an avalanche of worry, of babbling protests.

A thousand potential futures flash before my eyes. You think you're remote, you think too much? Welcome to my world!

You seemed much more relaxed when you, well, relaxed.

Possibly it's a sign of desperation on both our parts, but I have not fared well from my two passionate relationships. Are we past passion? Is there a certain age, when we have stopped trusting innately? And everyone is investigated?

Or is there a time for settling?

Letter

I went for my own solo thinking session yesterday, though I did it on foot. My longest ever run - out to the M50 and back. Not quite as far as Trim. :P

Just wanted to write a closing note. I think you're great, and I was always fond of you. I really enjoyed the wee time we had - except maybe for the first part of that first day when I was still a bit hungover. The goodnight kiss was worth it though. I don't think I gave you the courting you deserved, I should've swept you off your feet more - I was far too relaxed about it being friends already.

Anyway, your head is where it is, and I don't begrudge you that, nor do I envy you it. I hope when you get to a more settled place you let me take you out for dinner again, and in the meantime if you need a distraction, or fancy a spin and a swim, just drop me a line. I'm never too far away.

x

Me

I'm not yet 30, so I'm not old yet, but I guess I'm not that young anymore - I've managed to live a few lives already. I've been a pseudo-archaeologist. A classics scholar. A Scout leader. An IT nerd. A cyclist. A writer. A traveller. The different facets of my individuality. And throughout it all there have been my family and friends, constantly helping me to define and refine myself, to explore aspects of my life that would otherwise be left untouched.

Going through the motions

Sometimes I feel like I'm just going through the motions, filling my days with activities and socialising so that I don't have a chance to stop and think, to realise and confront that loneliness which dwells within.

I've become so argumentative about hypothetical relationships, about possibilities. Pessimistic on behalf of others. I've given up looking, to give myself an excuse? Or once bitten...? Am I self-sabotaging, or just insecure?

I dreamt of my own death last night, falling into the sea, accepting my fate, and whatever comes next... the darkness of oblivion. It was welcome in the dream, like a new adventure, an exploration of the great beyond.

Maybe I just miss the excitement of travelling, everyone is settling down, and dragging me with them. Can I afford a comfortable home life while still getting away? Definitely need to get that promotion. Need to get my head right, make a list and cross it off. A place of own? A space of my own. I can't restrict myself to doing one thing and doing it well, can I do everything, and still do them well?

Post-Diceys

These nights of self-examination never go well. Who am I? A nice guy, nothing more, nothing less. A guy who tries too hard? What do women not see in me? I lack the bottled courage of my companions. Throw the lips, go in for the kill, seal the deal. Fuck that shit.

Fuck. I'm 29, nearly 30, and no idea what life holds. Should that be liberating? I'm adrift. Need to refine the five year plan, have to include love. But you can't plan for that shit. You don't know when it'll start, nor when it'll end. All you can do is let it happen. Lie back as it steamrollers your heart.

Ups and Downs

This year has been nuts. It started so well, waking up in London... actually, we very nearly missed the flight, so maybe not such a hot start. Direct to Kerry for a few days in good company, relaxed, pleasant. My girlfriend was home, we were making a new start together, this year was going to be the establishment of domestic bliss.

That illusion was shattered pretty swiftly, leaving me heartbroken. But with the help of close friends and family, I bounced back over a few weeks. Two months later I felt ready to meet her again, exchange some of the items we'd left in each other's possession. I remember afterwards realising that she harboured more resentment over the break-up than I did.

In the meantime an old friend re-appeared in my life, and it's fantastic to have her about. There were gigs to which to go, friends with whom to eat and drink, spins to be cycled, strangers to befriend. Life rolled on, inevitably. Ireland failed at the Six Nations. My race results were mixed, still missing that outright win. It snowed in March. I got a new housemate. No highlights, no lowlights. Just life, rolling onwards.

Then two of my very best friends got engaged. Delighted for them, our busy schedules prevented a celebration for two weeks. Two other good friends returned from eight months abroad. I won a prestigious trophy, first time I've ever managed such a feat. I meet one of my returned friends in the pub on the Tuesday after Easter, and we caught up, talking about old times and his impending wedding, for which I am best man.

That same day, another close friend, for whom I had been best man last August, suffered a freak event when a blood vessel in his back burst. It clotted around his spine as he headed to the hospital. Gradually his legs went from weak to numb. An ambulance rushed him across the city to emergency surgery. The clot was removed, along with one of his vertebrae. But when he came around, he was paralysed from the chest down. He had movement in his hands and arms, but the doctors weren't sure if he would ever walk again. Time, it would take time. A week, they said.

A week later, nothing had changed. We lost hope, prepared for the worst. His wife was amazingly pragmatic and stable. Ten weeks then, we were told, it could take a long, long time before improvement showed. It was a small bit of hope, not enough really. On top of this, we could not visit due to a flu outbreak in the hospital.

Then another week passed, and he discovered one night he could move his knee slightly. Scarcely believing it, he held off telling anyone until the morning, so that he could be sure of it. Involuntary twitching followed. We were suddenly optimistic. The visiting ban was being lifted too, joy and delight filled us all.

Then this week. His father suffered a minor stroke. And an outbreak of the vomiting bug has closed the hospital to visitors once more. The road to recovery will be a long one, a year to eighteen months, if he ever gets there, but we have to be there for him all the way. No more whiskey.

T1

I've spent the last week with this pain in my stomach, this knot, this ball of worry. I don't notice when I'm hungry anymore, because the hunger pains are disguised by the constant ache.

I sleep little.

Yesterday evening I had a glass of whisky, followed by one more. Then I lay on my bedroom floor, and cried for my friend. I cried for his wife. For his parents. For hers. For me.

The outlook is bleak.

Rollercoaster

Tuesday night I celebrated two friends getting engaged, two friends coming home, and my own win of a sizeable and prestigious trophy.

Wednesday morning I learned that my best mate may never walk again. 

I tried to leave you

I tried to leave you. I don't deny. I closed the book on us at least a hundred times. I'd wake up every morning by your side.

The years go by. You lose your pride. The baby's crying so you do not go outside. And all your work is right before your eyes.

Goodnight, my darling. I hope you're satisfied. The bed is kind of narrow, but my arms are open wide. And here's a man still working for your smile.

- Leonard Cohen.

Why?

Why do I feel so empty inside? Why do I feel like my heart just died? Why do I feel so cheap and used? Why do I feel so abused? Why do I fool myself so? Why can't I just let her go?

Giving up

In hindsight, I think she's just emotionally immature. Or afraid of commitment? She needs to learn a thing or two about making relationships work - she didn't try talk it out with me, or give it a second chance. She just gave up.

Break up

It's called a break-up because something is broken.

She treated you like shit, blew you off, denied yous ex.

She used you.

Long distance was a convenience for her, you were a patsy.

You'll meet someone shinier.

What becomes of the broken hearted?

Was it my constantly cold hands? Was it my shitty old phone? Was it that I caused us to miss a flight, and nearly miss another? Was it because I didn't like you smoking, and told you so? Was it my terrible puns and awful jokes? Was I too sweet, too eager, too nice, too jokey, too playful? Was it because I wasn't very close to my family? You're preternaturally close to yours. Was it because I don't have a car? Do I just not fit into your plans? Did I ever?

You can sing, and cook, and I can do neither of those things. You can name a million different plants, and I cannot. I thought you could teach me these things. I could help you learn computers, and take you out cycling. I never had a chance to take you out dancing. To bring you to the cinema. To watch a DVD on my couch. We endured so much for so long. I thought this was what we were looking forward to, what we were aiming for. I view our relationship as like a flower. Our first couple of dates was the planting. The long-distance months were the careful nurturing - watering and feeding. Now you're home, the green shoots were showing, and soon we blossom. It's what kept me going, knowing you'd be home soon, that we'd be in the same city, that things would get better. Things would be normal. The plant would flower. But instead you're cutting it down before it had a chance.

We're finally together, can't you give that a chance? You talked it out with your sister, why don't you talk it out with me? I don't understand how you can be so cold about it. I feel so fucking used. I was the sucker that would tide you over until you got home, the loser who would make the effort to go to Edinburgh, like a fucking puppy, following you around, and I didn't see that you were stringing me along. I don't think you realised you were doing it though. Fuck. Why couldn't you have ended it sooner? Before Christmas, before New Year's. Why would you invite me to your house for Christmas if you felt this way? And if you didn't feel it then, how can you make a decision after a day of thinking that throws away nine months. Nine months wasted. Rendered null. Void.

You're home now, you don't need me. The fool who spent eight months shuttling between cities, between countries. Your friends and your family are around you now, what room is there for me? I thought you were coming home to me, not to be away from me.

I can't believe I bought new shoes, and brought you a rose. Got a haircut, shaved in work, just to be extra smooth. Offered to cook for you. You met my Granny. I told you my PIN number. These are the little things that helped me realise how much you were a part of my life, even though we lived in different countries.

Let's start over. We said it was going to be difficult, this adjustment period. Are you afraid of committing? Scared that it might be hard? We can get through this.

NYE

Cook. Make some photo albums. Don't lose girlfriend.

Death by car

There was a woman knocked down around the corner from my current abode, on Tuesday night at 6.35pm. She was 90 years old, on the way home from mass. She was a friend of my grandmother. These are the facts.

The road she was crossing is a wide one, but one with no pedestrian crossing. It's often used as a rat run, being in a residential area, but parallel to the main Drumcondra Road.

She was hit by a car. She died.

My presumption is that the driver was on the way home from work, using the road as a rat run. The road is wide, and cars often turn into it fast, knowing there is no tight cornering to be done. I presume the driver turned fast into the corner, and could not stop before hitting this woman. Which means that the driver was going too fast.

Why would someone drive fast? To get home from work quicker.

So a woman was killed, because somebody else wanted to get home from work quicker.

The driver is likely traumatised by the event.

I wonder if any charges will be pressed.

Lunchtime

Life is weird if you think about it too much. I just ate an apple, to gain energy and prolong my life from consuming its biomass. I'm like a vampire for apples. I ingest their souls.

Authenticity

You know, it's when I talk to my friends from days gone by that i realise... there's a genuine nature that they lack. And that's why i love you. x

Countryside

There's a particular ability of the countryside to make you feel more alive. Everything is heightened, everything seems more vivid, more real. The wind blows stronger, the sun shines warmer. Even the rustling silence that the bustling city denies seems more deafening. You sit quiet in awe, the power of nature, of god. This place, so little of which is manmade, resounds with simple beauty.

Airport

Why is my heart so heavy? Is it because I'm about to do something momentous, solo? Surely I've passed the point where taking a weekend break elicits anxiety and a feeling in the gut of my stomach like I've just gotten a punch.

Do I believe this weekend will be a farce? Hardly. London is well-known to me at this stage; even if I haven't planned every hour of this trip, it's no matter.

More likely the ex is weighing on my mind. Ever since I discovered she'll be going to the wedding, argh, she has been at the back of my mind. The cut in the roof of my mouth that would heal if only I could stop tonguing it. I don't think I'm still in love with her, she's more like a shadow cast over me, my lovelife.

Paulo Coelho. Part of me blames him for the break-up. That book... but it was me really. I stopped making her happy at some point. We dragged it out, but that's all that matters. No happiness.