A cold night

Standing in Dame Street waiting for the no. 123 bus to work this evening, brought it all home to me. The icy wind makes a million cuts of surgical precision in my pathetic excuse for a uniform. It might be alright in Southern Spain, but my skimpy white nylon job was certainly never designed for an Irish winter evening. It's cold. And I'm cold.

And all the world was in love. Couples of every shape and size hugged, snogged and gambo as if it were midsummer's night. The invigorating spirit of careless abandon warming their joyous hearts. And I'm alone. Again. The rain begins to fall and it almost feels like company. Not the sort you'd go out and seek. But company none the less. Some wize-cracking comedian on his way to the Laughter Lounge and a career in television, no doubt, tells me to cheer up. It's only my legendary fortitude and self-restraint that stops Anne Doyle from announcing that Gardai are investigating a vicious unprovoked assault on a young Dublin man by a deranged woman.

Another "It's not you, it's me" conversation that didn't need to happen. It was all going so well. He made me laugh and I've not really laughed in a long time. There are too many things that it just doesn't seem right to laugh in the face off. He made me feel frivolous and so important. Vital. Needed, wanted. He put a spring in my step that help me through several similar chilly nights.

The thought of him rushing into Reads on Nassau Street and emerging breathlessly and embarassed with a large inflatable globe, makes me smile. His cheesey line, "I want to give you the world", makes me smile a little. But my cutting retort, "Well, I want the sun and stars too!", doesn't seem so clever now.

I just want, nay, need a hug. Thank god for Blogosphere!