So much time has passed since my last post pertaining to my US and UK trip, and in particular the Irish section of it. Why? I don’t know. Laziness, distraction, the frustrated search for less meaningful but more financially beneficial employment. Take your pick. I even bought 24 440ml cans of Guinness Draught in a desperate (yet tasty) grasp for a muse in the absence of one of the sexually available female type. It hasn’t so far worked. I’m not ready. It’s been too long. I don’t know if I need to read through the entire written journey thus far, or what. All I know is that I may have gained full-time work as of in less than a week’s time. So if I’m going to finish this thing (I’ve but to finish Dublin, then Edinburgh, then the couple of days’ transition from London to Los Angeles then home), I have to do it within the next 48 hours of the weekend of which it is at least somewhat socially acceptable to be drunk on heavy beer. Jesus. I’m conflicted about the title (Emerald, Isle Be Hungover Tha Whoale Taime). There’s gotta be something better. Keen to hear any suggestions from interested readers out there.
What else can I say to reward you who has bothered to read this? What layers of my soul can I lay bare to compensate you for moving on to this second paragraph? Well. I’m resigned. I need some love in my life. I’ve earned it at the very least through its absence for so long. Success or not in that regard is not going to stop me finally finishing this labour of love, but that changes nothing. I probably have work coming up. Who cares? Anyone who lives defined by their work does not truly live. Living should be defined by the quality of our connections with others. And that’s saying a lot, coming from an introvert such as me. Sure I value my solitude, but it is of very little value indeed if it cannot be contrasted against moments of intellectual, emotional and, agh, blissfully, physical connection with others. So there it is. Soon, without any financial incentive, this odyssey will be completed. But what comes after, should I have any control over it at all, will constitute blissfully ignorant indulgence in L. O. V. E. I’ll never learn. In fact I would die for it, should I only get a taste for it at its purest. So stay tuned, for the end and hopefully the beginning of other, grander, more worthwhile things. Please. Be my gracious guest. . . .