SpaceFairy and I broke up last night. A supersonic stratocaster of a relationship that lasted all of 3 weeks, 4 days, 12 hours and 47 minutes – but who’s counting? If you read the last post then I don’t think you will be surprised to hear that I am, for want of a more appropriate verb, gutted.

I mean, it was all terribly romantic, terribly romantic – meeting on a plane, becoming totally besotted with each other, moving extremely fast and all that jazz – and the fact that we were both so different to what the other was used to (you know, not each others’ type) did make things somewhat too good to be true, right from the start. But I wanted it to be true, and I know she did too …

I knew this would happen at some stage, you know – the reality of the situation would eventually impinge – but man alive, it fucking sucks. It’s only been a couple of hours and I miss her awfully. It really bugs me, at 9.31am on a Saturday morning – an hour which is totally unknown to me – that, having tried my damndest to drink enough to forget, I woke up early and without a smidgen of a hangover. All I felt at 7.57 was bitter, and rushing to Facebook to change my relationship status. Which is pretty pathetic, I know, but I needed to do something, because I certainly couldn’t sleep. Thanks be to jaysus the Kestrel is back, “… when a man truly needs his friends, they will surely appear …” (that’s not a quote from anything, but it should be).

Maybe she just needs time, to have a think about things. When she spoke last night, about how she was feeling, I realised that it was somewhat cruel of me to want to keep her tied down, so to speak. I mean, she is a complete hippy. Free-spirited, joyous, good-natured, turns every second into a party … and she’s starting college in a few weeks so I suppose, all-in-all, we were going to hit the rocks sooner or later. But, even though from the beginning I didn’t think it’d last, I hoped it would, and I was beginning to think it might. Really can’t believe that we didn’t survive the first hurdle, and feel awful that it was largely my fault … me, my ego and my stupid temper.

I don’t bear her any ill will, I just can’t believe it’s over. We had so much fun together, like Croke Park, sushi, jazz and cocktails in the one day – I challenge anyone to describe a better date than that! We were really good together, laughing, chatting, flirting … everything. She’s an amazing girl: thoughtful, good-natured, considerate, caring, smart as a fox, genuinely very funny, superb conversationalist, sharp dresser, foxy as fuck, smoking hot and sexy as hell. Oh dearie me, she’ll be hard to get over!

And now, here I am, swatting flies and drinking cold tea, and wondering what to do with the extra toothbrush and the condensed milk. And the irony of the situation is starting to grate on me too. See, I made a point, right from the start, of trying to keep things special, trying to maintain the, ho-hum, cinematic atmosphere, by giving her a flower of some kind, usually a rose from the bush outside my front door: but now I don’t think there are any left. I suppose I could get them elsewhere – she was always giving out to me for stealing them – but you get the picture, some kind of fatedness. Plus I had a strange feeling when I sent that letter to Ryanair.

Maybe it’s just turbulence, oh maybe …