Romantic comedy
Such is the richness of information technology these days that I just ’stumbled upon’ something on my computer, not 3 months old, written in my own hand, yet still somehow new to me! Time flies! Some gibberish I wrote about SpaceFairy.
And I had vowed, more-or-less, not to write poems about women anymore, because they are rarely – no, never – worth that level of praise. O the folly of man… yet there is still something awfully alluring about romance, not to mention sentimentality, isn’t there?
Crash landing
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 …
Slight return
Where did I go? I came back from Bratislava last Monday fortnight, although to be honest, I still don’t feel like the the plane has landed yet. The last two weeks have been something of a blur, and I’m still pinching myself, still waking up in the morning wondering if this is actually happening. Allow me to explain…
I hit the bottle pretty hard on my first night in Bratislava, and it was quite a surprise to wake up in the right bed, in the right hostel, with all my clothes and other paraphenalia, minus only memories and money. So I took it reasonably easy on Sunday, wandered around, hobbling actually, buying some presents and eating ice-cream and then took a nap. As I was flying home the next day, I packed, showered and strolled into the historic centre for a good meal, and maybe a couple of drinks. Maybe.
I ate like a condemned king. Beer. Grilled Camembert. Bottle Merlot. Venison. Cake! Special Brandy. Espresso. Cigar. €31! Obligatory pint of Guinness in the Irish bar. Strolled along. Couple of Slivovica in another bar (thanks Ninny). Ready for bed. Back to the hostel … English and Mexicans … who clearly needed to be taught a few lessons in drinking and card-playing. I managed the former but the latter, well … I don’t know. Anyway I didn’t get to bed at all. It was something of a miracle that I got to the airport at all, but in any case, miracles were not in short supply that day…
I stumbled through the airport, and duty-free, couldn’t remember what I had already bought the day before, so did it all again. Hobbling, with a suitcase, laptop and several bottles of liquor (treated myself to some aftershave too), I made it to ‘priority boarding’. Which was where I first saw her, out of the corner of my bloodshot eye, she whom I shall call SpaceFairy.
I’ll spare you, and her, and won’t go into the details, but let’s just say, ho-hum, that nature took its course; such a beautiful course as I scarcely believe. It’s like something that would happen in a film directed by the lovechild of Sophia Coppola and Cameron Crowe, where I, while somewhere between drunk, hungover and sober, on a Ryanair flight of all places, I met this most amazing girl. Not to mention that we’re still together …