N59

i didn't like college much. found that the gray sky and the gray limestone of vermont made me gray, not gary. so how am i enjoying the same sleeting gray of everyday in connemara? fascinating question. i am thinking that i am bipolar. last night, yesterday was a lost day of coffees at bars along the N59. after i lost the key to my car and my apartment somewhere in town. the shop people seemed on the whole unsympathetic, and the irish barmen at each stop were quick to make me see that i'll have to really want a chance to "make it" here, that california isn't robust enough to be proud of. come dinner time, the irish stew was all sold out, and the hailstorm left my rental car's paint job looking like it had been shot at by the IRA. i was having trouble smiling at the fortune of my "cultural experience". but then i rented a movie to watch on my computer. seabiscuit. dont know--something about the horses made me feel like it would be a comfort. and it was. not because of the horses though. but because the whole film is set in the context of the Depression. it left me around 11pm pulling up the covers and kicking myself for being such a chickenshit.

and this morning, sure as the bog is wet, it was pouring when i awoke. but i turned on my convection heater/fireplace, noted that it wasn't working, and packed for a few days in galway. and i drove/flew down the N59, amazed at how different it all looked today. the weather was the same. the oncoming, oversized, under-cautious Statoil trucks nearly shaving off my side mirrors at every turn were everpresent. but today it was beautiful, and i am quite pleased with the whole shabang once again. in galway, i switched in my rental car for a smaller, manual version, (much like what i had intended to buy) and sailed right through the roundabouts, grinding and revving to the dismay of all irish roadsters as i fought the stick shift with my left hand. once again, mando returns to the scene, via the N59. the way of all the good irish.