On getting lost and ice cream

On getting lost and ice cream

I’m trying to stay positive. I am positive. I am. Really. It’s just a little overwhelming. I’m in a new place. I don’t know a soul – if we don’t count Mr Wallace. (I don’t count Mr Wallace!) The only other contacts I’ve had are with the guy who runs the Korean Deli across the street and some random via Instagram. Something to do with my dad’s old publishing company.

I finally started to tick stuff off my bucket list. I got to Central Park, or should I just call it The Park now I’m staying here. Am I staying here? I’d been feeling a bit like I might just grab this book and broken fob watch and go home. But then a walk in the sun sorted me out.

This city is vast. I mean vaaaaaaaaaast. I feel like the ant running around the glade, carrying a massive load on my shoulders. Uptown things feels easy because of the lay out, but downtown I turn a corner and I’m lost in seconds. It’s kind of fun to feel lost. Completely lost. But then that makes me think of my dad. Lost in the city like he was. Homeless. Why was he homeless when he had this awesome (it did used to be awesome I’m sure) townhouse? They call it a townhouse here – I would call it a house or a terrace.

I did have some of the best ice cream I’ve ever had in my life. Even better than Gelupo. I’m not sure if it was better because of the flavour or because of the extras it came with – about fifty different kinds of sprinkles and flakes and whatever you can think of stuck in it! Amaaaaaaaazing!

I spoke to Auntie Monica on FaceTime. She says that Ciarán had been into the pub asking about me and when I’d be home. No matter how lonely it feels here I will not be going home for a man!!! I think I’ll just head back to that ice cream place tonight. That will make everything right in the world. I can worry about what I’m supposed to do with all this information tomorrow.


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