Your preliminary assessment was almost correct: There is one addition to the couple of thousands of Irish dickheads, who is not - Irish that is. My mind is playing that same old joke on me: It keeps insisting that somewhere out there, I have a mate. That all I have to do is look into her eyes and I will know. I look into your eyes and I see nothing. The rest of you looks equally unpromising. Stringy hair, lipstick stained teeth, bitten nails and a badly maintained and malnutritioned body. A tired, overweight woman on the verge of a nervous breakdown. You look into my eyes but you might as well be blind; Can you not see that I will drag you down into the depth of my despair? And yet, you kiss me. For the rest of the night, we cling to each other like two drowning souls desperately hoping that the other, may know how to swim.   Time Passages. I should have my head examined. In the two weeks since I have met you, we have managed to speak on the phone every day. Asking for your number was quite daring of me, but actually calling you, was totally out of character. And the things we are discussing? Like living together; Are you totally off you rocker? I must be mad to be on the train on my way to you. I just put twelve tense hours into the annual Rollover/Crossover process and I am bushed. How dare I contemplate having sex with you? The day after your son's birthday, I noticed something growing on my face, I hope it is not skin cancer. And the birthday? I don't really want to talk about that. The only good thing I can say about it is that at least I did not have to deal with your entire family since nobody showed up. Everyone makes a mistake now and than, but this will be my last one; When I get back to New York, I will go and visit that Bridge of my Damnation for one last time.
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