tristane

About a week ago my computer died. Poor Bastian. He had been my friend through every bit of crap that I have been through the last couple of years, from the very first days back at Norra Fiskaregatan in Gavle.
If there is such a thing as love between mashine and man, I had it with Bastian. It was with great sadness when I noticed that the power wasn't charging at all anymore, and it was with a heavy heart that I copied what could be saved and shut of Windows for the last time.
I patted his touchpad all the while as he powered down.
Not much is left now. I have hardly a day left until the plane leaves and I have barely packed yet. I have so many things that I will bring that seems worthless now, but will most likely prove most useful back home. Some things I might throw away. Time will tell.

Some things are left to sort out though. Danish room mate Bjoern had come home last night drunk and gravely insulted my friend Swedish Bjoern who has been staying with us for a week since he was thrown out of his house when he got back from a month in Brazil and threatened to beat him up for burning a bit of bacon.
When he told me the next morning I had gone blank. I had woke up the night before by his rowlings, but thought it nothing more than "Bjoern-has-been-out-feeding-his-drinking-problem-and-has-forgotten-that-people-are-sleeping-upstairs". He has not said a word to me about - well, about anything at all for quite some time now and I am firmly convinced that if something is annoying you, you talk to this person about it. You do not come home insanely drunk and insult and threaten their guests. Apparently he had been displeased with my cooking as well. This is interesting, coming from a man who cooks once a week to leave the remains on the stove in an open pan to rot for days, while continuously eating from it each night.
I have been patient, but he is an asshole and I am genuinely embarrassed to have ever been even associated with him. I am far from short tempered, but once you manage to raise my thorns you are off the list for good. How many synonyms for bastard are there, really?
I just want my 75 and then leave.

So, now I have booked the last flight from Cork-Dublin. It leaves me with 5 kg less luggage, but saves me from twelve hours night watch at the Dublin Airport. It also leaves me with time to go see the cute bartender girl at Shelbourne who I happen to have gotten the number to last weekend, not couting the crazy new dane who has apparently got the good eye for me as well. I don't know how I did it. I usually never get guys, even less girls. Francly that has never happened before. It must be that LWS, the "Last Week Syndrome".

I had my last hang out with Johan tonight as well. It was nice to hang with him, but it felt sort of weird. All these last months is pressing down between us and even though I am leaving "sooner than soon" there is still that distance there, that reluctance to have anything at all to do with anybody at Siemens. We're damaged goods, him and I. All the intrigues just made us want to get away from everybody else having to do anything with anybody at Siemens. I was the innocent victim of his crusade. It doesn't matter now though. In retrospect it will only be the good times I will remember. I guess it always is. I don't want to get all nostalgic now, I was never happy here.

Still, whenever I think of Ireland and the good times here I will probably see the green leaves and the blue skies of the Mardyke Park, I will feel the sun on my face and the taste of passion fruit and grapes, and there will be me and Johan, each with a symbolic book that will never be opened, and sunlight, friendship and the hopes of an equally great tomorrow.