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Nijmegen, The Netherlands, January 2005 —
I still live in the room where Kim and I used to live together; she lives across the railroad tracks now, since this summer. She was elsewhere on New Year's.
[New Year's Eve] 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. [This was before Ryanair flew to Eindhoven.]
I couldn't have asked for what I got, a simple phone call from Gicu [a friend who encouraged me to go back to Kilkenny.]
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.
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. She asked me where you going. That's none of your business now, I joked. I'm going to go buy weed.
Later, I stopped by the landlord's office to tell him I'm leaving, and went upstairs to roll a joint.
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