July 13, 2001

Friday the 13th!

My superpower would be to see the spots I’ve missed BEFORE I roll up the cord and heave the vacuum back into the closet.  God, they left this sitting room a disgusting MESS last night!  They had quite a raucous time.  Instead of going to a club last night after that party they must have only gotten as far as Drumcondra before they needed a fix.  I woke at 3AM to a screaming bladder to hear them all troop in and mob the bathrooms like locusts in Egypt.  I was not about to be seen in my disheveled big-haired state, so I waited until I hear the door open after a flash and I ran around the corner.  Almost in the bathroom Johnny comes wobbling around the corner.

– Hey Paul.

– Hey Johnny.  How’s things?

– Good.  Do you want to join us?  Have a beer or something?

– No thanks.  I just really have to go to the bathroom.

– Oh, we didn’t wake you up, did we?

– No, I just really have to pee.

– Because if we’re too loud just come up and tell us to be quiet.

– No, it’s fine.

– Because I’ll be the first to shut up.  Just tell us to shut the fuck up.  Seriously.

– No.  It’s fine.  I just REALLY have to go to the bathroom.

Then, thankfully, the other bathroom door open and his alcohol bloated bladder heard that siren song of the squeaky hinges and mother nature’s autopilot steered him dribbling to the now vacant toilet, mumbling as he went, “Just tell us to shut the fuck up and we’ll shut up…”

I peed, a long clear satisfying waterfall, and ran back to my room, put the earphones in my head, and after no small portion of the CD managed to fall asleep.

I awoke at 8AM – before my alarm! – to more sounds of people bashing around.  I went out to go take a shower and was greeted by the shortest blond girl who reminded me of that Goolrick desk aide during weight training from the party earlier that evening.  I said, “Hello.”  She moved her mouth but booze and hash had absorbed her voice.  She forcefully cleared her throat and managed to croak a salutation.  I’m not quite sure what it was.

“Look at all these doors!”  I recall Paddy in the hallway.  “It’s really quite a big house!  It’s like some sort of B+B!”  Declan, “Yeah, you wouldn’t know if from the street, but it’s quite deep!”

Got out on the street at 9:10 – wanted to see how long a leisurely walk would take compared to yesterday’s forced march.  I made excellent time still, reaching the back of the Custom House by 9:30.  So, like the fool that I am, I decided to explore what I imagined to be, in my warped mind’s-eye understanding of Dublin, to be a short-cut to the hotel.  It was, indeed, a poor excuse for a shortcut.  I ended up at Connolly Station, which even I knew meant I was far off the mark.  I turned right in the hopes of just getting back to the river and ended up in a desolate housing development EMPTY save for three lurking children on bikes.  Then I was faced with a bridge, which I KNEW could not be on the quays as there was a high thick brick retaining wall in front of me.  As the seconds ticked by I turned right again.  I ended up in industrial wasteland, the only citizens of the dusty republic being an increasingly stressed Paul, a handful of unmotivated green-jacketed workmen.

Sugar in this country is like a window after an accident – a spray of bright cubes of glass.

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