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From Nijmegen back to Kilkenny

Nijmegen, the Netherlands, January 2005 —

I still live in the room where Kim and I used to live; she lives across the railroad tracks, since this Summer. She was elsewhere on New Year's.

[My New Year's Experience] was, as it turns out, my only major social experience in the Dutch language, at least for the present era. My Dutch is sliding onto the back burner (I just got it; I just learned to speak the fucker) — because I'm going to Ireland.

Anyway, I will have a lifelong connection with the Netherlands, and I will be back to visit.

I bought a flight ticket last Tuesday, for the 17th of January, Brussels to Dublin.

I couldn't have asked for what I got, a simple phone call from G_. That I could not ask for such a thing was in fact a prime indicator of my condition.

I was afraid I had let my relationships in Ireland slide to such a point that I could not ask a friend to pull me out of the desperate situation I was in.

I needed to be away from Kim. Our interdependence, a deep and unmanageable addiction, had cracked on the Christmas weekend. I was really free from her, and sick in my heart from it.

Kim and I love and hate each other, and forgive each other compulsively in the most inexcusable situations. We fight and hurt each other and... see each other again. It's not even sexual, which is the really sick part about it.

Now, she likes somebody else, and our relationship must finally change. It was always going to be like that, and I don't regret letting it happen, though it was what I'd most feared. But those traps, those traps....

I saw her today. I had intended to go see the landlord, do the right thing before going to score weed. But I opted to go instead and get weed first. Ran into Kim. Big smiles, touching. We're truly friends now. She asked me where you going. That's none of your business now, I joked. I'm going to go buy weed. Always a big big sticking point in my conscience, being with Kim. She doesn't even know the severity of my addiction, but her derision of the practice always gutted me out emotionally and made me defensive. You can dig it. This time, it was just a fact of what I was doing at the moment. Liberating.

Then I scored weed, stopped by the landlord to tell him I'm leaving, and went upstairs to roll a joint.