NOTE: This is my third straight attempt at starting the entry and I'm just going to drill through it, no looking back. Funny, it's almost as if not writing this will somehow freeze time and stop the Earth in mid-rotation. I came to Ireland with no expectations, just anticipation. I was stoked and excited to see Mike, Cam and Patrick again. Somehow the vines of my thoughts wrapped around them in the short amount of time (2 weeks) I spent with them in Ukraine. And before I knew it, the vines became trunks, leaves, and branches; rooting themselves deep into me as we drove across the country -- giving me the elevated sense of awareness and regard that is only reserved for lifelong friends. Mindblowing.
Makes me think about life -- mine in relation to theirs and the human condition and its mechanisms. I sit here in an empty airport terminal and already I feel a bit saddened. They're off to see the cliffs of Mohur, soon they will be flying to Krakow, Poland only to take an 18 hour train ride (suckers) back to Ukraine. Pat will be back in the small quarters and shadow lit corridors of Lvov, Cam will be in Kiev doing something related to Hockey, or Law, or Luda. And Mike, he'll be sitting on that old antique Victorian couch in his high-ceilinged, Soviet apartment -- plotting out his next home cooked meal effort or throwing in my face all the beautiful, model looks and porn star built, Ukrainian women he'll be indulging in. We met these two girls at a discotech in Kiev on my first night there, (and I'll just say) he was the envy of the room when he was last with them, a few weeks ago. And he doesn't even care that I put it out there because towels are like wet naps when you're Mike Johnston.
Back to life for me, as well; fluid as the ocean. Mine will take me on a plane, and in about two hours, I'll be in Brussels, to be received by the generosity of two strangers (a cute young girl and her gracious mom). Tonight I'll be partying in Brussels with Pom and a bunch of young, drunk teenagers. Tomorrow, I will be stumbling along similar lines. Then I'll be heading back home -- which for now happens to be Amsterdam. Very excited. Very tired. Kinda stinky. Whatever, this makes me think of the human condition. Right now I'm totally bummed that we've reached the end of Ireland. After all, there are more hills to roll down, more fish to fry (of which I've had the worst and the best), and surely every pub in Ireland must have enough beer for at least one more round between us. But where will the next one take place? In Sweden, at Mike's family ranch? Purchased at twilight kiosks and consumed at 2:00AM in Kiev while waiting for the rest of Eastern Europe to catch up? Slurped off the naval of one of those girls we met? Really though, will I ever see them, any of them, again?
I'm not sure what's worse -- the fact that I'm going to miss them or the certainty that life goes on and the fact that I will press on, successfully and effortlessly without them. I'm sure, years from now, pints will be raised and once in a while the boys and the rolling hills of Ireland will come to mind. And everything will be all good, no big deal, no hard feelings of me missing them. It's amazing, the way the human condition prepares you to move on. It ensures our survival. It makes perfect sense. But this whole letting go thing; it never gets easier. It's something I don't think I'll ever understand.
(Hey, I happen to have a weak internet connection so I won't be posting up images till way later)
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