Last night drama erupted in Knackeragua resulting in a jeep being set ablaze and two fire brigades flashing their lights at two in the morning while I slept peacefully in my bed dreaming about Dublin and you. More on the jeep thing as news reaches me.
I noticed today that I only ever wear a tracksuit when I’m going to the doctor’s. Wearing a tracksuit bottoms now. Off to the psych people at half two. But only if I get a lift. I refuse to venture out into that hurricane alone. I would rather go in Tommy’s smelly red banger than risk being blown away into oblivion, especially when I am so nice and clean.
Weather warning for Saturday, apparently. And all of a sudden I’m in two minds about the Dublin thing. I mean, seven o’clock in the morning bus and trying to find that elusive DCU in the rain when I could be in bed. Sleeping. And waiting for the night time to creep ‘round so I could spend some more time with you, hoping you wanted to spend time with me too. That what you said was genuine. I would love to get drunk with you right there beside me and I wouldn’t cry at all because I’d be happy.
So Dublin or drunk times?