I Will Walk 500 Miles

6:15 in the morning and i cant go back to sleep after taking Hazel te catch her bus to Chicago. The co-op living room is a mess of possessions left behind by the Irish from a life they briefly lived here. A constant reminder that no matter how long I sit in the living room, Jim Power will never again knock on the door. He wont come watch Glee, we will not play basketball.

I sit among hangers, comforters, toiletries, pillows, detergent, an unreal amount of pennies, Hazels assortment of unwanted but gorgeous european clothing, and best and most cherished of all, a UCD Hurling hoodie, hurleys and schlitar (spelled the way Jim says it) and a claddaugh from Paud. Because he is honest to God, the cutest, sweetest man I've ever met in my life. (Except when we're puckin around and he calls me slow.) Theres no denying this accusation Padraig, (or Padre as every white american called you this semester) in fact I went to Vons attempting a different size and the lady behind the counter said that exact same thing. "I loved listening to him talk, I loved his accent. He was so sweet. Such a sweetheart." Have I not said those exact words all semester??? Needless to say, my hormonal self started crying. Crying. In Vons. I left, cried home and am not exchanging the ring. It can form to my hand for all I care.

Haha, just as I begin to think about sleep, which would really be just lying in my bed dreaming of Ireland...skype informs me that irish kids currently home in Ireland have come online. Class timing kids, for the first time ever being 5 hours behind you pays off.

So travel well my Irish besties that I've been blessed to know. Go way. Go way home and love what you have and where you'll always be from.

13 weeks till we shall meet again.