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

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.

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.

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

Memories of those I've met

Flashes of R's face, of L bold and unashamed. J, sitting cross-legged on my bed. K, her wild red hair whipped across her face while beaming that ever-present smile. J, a protective father, but so young at heart, stilling living life like the adventure it is. 

Karijini

Dreamt of F last night.

Singapore

Stole some kisses in a nook of the building, thunder and lightning around us.

Mui Ne

Between songs, while we sat down, I kissed J.

I tasting of whiskey, she of cognac. She was a little drunk, I was buzzing, but ice was broken.

***

We lay out listening after we returned to the hostel. Loungers aren't very comfortable though, so I think we will get a private room tonight. A bungalow on the beach would be superb.

Kunming

I dreamt of F. I still remember her lips, her eyes, her freckles. In intricate detail.

People

L shared some stories of his national service in the Swiss arm - training with gas masks on, pace drills. He's not quite what I expected - a consultant, he seems dry at first, but he has a great sense of humour, and is more than willing to join in the drinking games.

***

Had a nice talk with H yesterday. She's cute, and very intelligent and well-spoken. Ambitious, she's training to become a lawyer, and will probably work in Paris for six months. Very little privacy on this trip to see if anything will happen though.

Siberia

So here I am, two weeks in. Once again I find myself playing to people's expectations, fitting into a role they subconsciously define, and I half-consciously fulfil. This fucking caricature of myself, crossed with a stereotypical goofy Irishman. This yammering eejit who talks too much, who can no longer let silences reign for long. I'm like a hyperactive child. If I keep this up for much longer, nobody will be able to stand me. I won't be able to stand me.

Which brings me to the purpose of this whole trip. Primarily there are places I want to visit, to see, to experience and explore! To meet the Australians. To break from my daily routine at home. But I'll be returning to that.

Am I searching for something? For 'me'? To find myself? To find the future Ms Me? To show others I can do it - roam free for six months? But what kind of freedom ends at a comfy desk job? Am I still running from F? Trying to leave V and I behind? All the stupid things I've done over the past five years. What have I been doing for that time? Am I trying to make the couples jealous? Those who I can't help by envy. Settled, stable, happy.

Self-assessment is never positive at 1am. Fin.

Reflections on the day

Nothing beats a nice creamy pint of Guinness.

Having friends who make you dinner when you arrive unexpectedly is just great.

Settlers of Catan is a far simpler and more enjoyable game than expected.

"Have you got wood?" induces fits of giggles, even when innocently asked.

Ultimate unsent text

I could've, but didn't. I wouldn't, I couldn't, because it's not her. I want to tell her I miss her. I want to tell her I've made a terrible mistake. I want her back.

yay

The traditional proverb states that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all, but I'm beginning to disagree. You can't miss what you never had, and likewise, you don't know what you have 'til it's gone.

I'm despondent of late. My siblings have been bothering me, an eejit of a taxi driver used his indicator to assume automatic right-of-way over me on the way home. I feel trapped by the scouts, but the sense of letting them down if I were to pull out would be too much.

My friends are happily coupled... do I resent them? Is that what this is? With their apartments and houses that they call their own. Their separate lives entwined around and within each other, supporting, nurturing, helping, loving.

Instead I surround myself with stuff. Items. Goods. Things. The things I said I could live without. CDs. DVDs. Alcohol. yay.

NYE

Running. Racing. Travel.

So old

Sometimes I feel like giving up - I feel so old, like I've lived hundreds of lives packed into this lifetime - an eternity of experiences tearing me apart at the seams. Sometimes I don't know who I am, sometimes I don't know where I stand. The sky reflects my emotions, but only if I can tell it what i'm feeling. It's the pain that reminds us we're still alive.

My brother

I know the drone downstairs is my brother on the phone to the samaritans. A hollow guilty feeling steals over me, because I know I should do something, but I know I won't. He killed my enthusiasm for caring with a thousand negative comments, always shirking from my touch, never opening up, except with desperation. Now the only person he talks to is an anonymous voice, who just listens.

Resolutions

Meet a new girl. Move on from the old one, particularly her bosoms, as fantastic as they were.

Smarten up at the job. Read up, start making a more active contribution to everything, and know your shizzle.

Get a pair of runners, take up some kind of walking/running. Get more muscles than just your right arm.

Save a regular amount of money every month. Work out a budget that includes rent, and try to cut back expenditure on alcohol. It's horrendous really, how much I spend on drink. Of my non-capital recreational outgoings... it's probably 60-70%. Fark like.

Mostly, stop feeling sorry for yourself bitch. Take over as section leader of the cubs, get into the job, and get busy. Happiness comes later!

Man that's depressing.

The ex

It's been a year. Move on.