'Til the End of Time

I struck out with girl named Avril last night. She was from somewhere outside of Dublin, that I know. This has happened, and similar things may happen again, like some kind of eternal recurrence, or a broken record, doomed to reformulate itself in some fashion, again and again. If it’s not me, it’ll be some other poor idiot who wonders why the world does not conform to his ego.

How arrogant a thought, hey? The existentialists may just be affluent middle- to upper-class types with too much time on their hands. But perhaps this is useful, to a point. Which point?

I dunno. One thing is certain, the events of last night will never happen again, exactly in the way that they did. I remember she had short blonde hair, and she was very sarcastic. Unless I was reading the situation wrong, which may well have been the case, she kind of liked me too, for a time.

I came on too strong, perhaps. But then she started kissing this bloke from Kilkenny who was keen to emphasise that it was the south of the county he was from, not the north. He came with Avril, though he assured me that there was nothing between them. His sister was with them as well. My housemate talked to her for a while. Fair play, though I couldn’t guess the conversation. Once she left, Avril and her brother started going at it on the dance floor. Fair play, I suppose.

Who am I to feel hard done by, a tourist in their social circle, wandering through like a traveller trying to sell you a phone. Who am I?

Went to see a musical before that. Anglo the Musical. Twas very good, funny, though my housemate Seamus summed it up best when he said five minutes after the show that he couldn’t remember any of the songs. Neither could I. Still, good to laugh about it all, how we might be rightly screwed. Come to think of it, there was a song in the play about that.

Ah sure, it’s grand! Last night will never happen again: it’s doomed to recur 'til the end of time.