Chapter 9: In the Name of the Father

Facing Demons

My second to last night in vienna was pretty messed up.  I was completely haunted by an attack of anxiety that I managed to pilot by doing as little as possible.  I had told my mom that I was thinking about going to India; big mistake.  She reacted like that over controlling despotic mother (not to say witch) that I remembered growing up with, telling me that "recess was over" and that it was time for me to get back to reality.  I felt offended by her insensitivity and now saw the perfect opportunity to shift all my rage towards her.  She had not a clue of how hellish this whole experience had been nor did she understand what I was trying to achieve.

Of course, that was my ego drilling thoughts of anger into my brain.  My mother was just scared that something bad would happen to me and I was too selfishly blind in order to comprehend what was actually going on.  Must be tough to be a mother; must be really fucking tough being my mother!


My mom had a pretty messed up childhood.  She was the sixth of ten children, her father was attacked with a metal pipe, straight to the head, and left on life support with little to no conciousness when she was nine.  He died a year later.

Her mother, my grandma, was left widow at thirty eight with ten kids and a bunch of debt because her husbands insurance policy ran out while he was on life support and wasn´t re-approved because of his imminent death.  On top of that, the sibling that precedes her had some complications at birth and nearly choked leaving her mentally handicapped and, to make matters even worse, her most beloved brother was murdered when she was twenty three.

And that´s just some of the most infamous of traumatic events that have helped make her the way she is.  I cannot blame her for carrying such a heavy and crippling load of emotional pain but you have no idea how hard it has been for me to accept all of her overly exaggerated emotional outbursts (which are, usually, completely out of context); a fierce "dragon" that was passed onto me.  Though we may not see it easily, we cary more of our parents than we care to admit.

On the other hand, my father didn´t have it easy either.  My grandfather was one of Cali´s (Colombia) most influential, reputable, and respected businessmen.  He was a really smart man whose radiant personality, unbreakable will, and strength of character gave him the power to move mountains.  On the emotional side, however, he wash´t the most stable of all human beings.  His upbringing was a bit ruthless, with caveman-style discipline, so he believed that the harder (tougher, harsher...) he was on his children, the stronger and more successful they´d end up being; and hence the monster that was passed onto him, then to my father and, eventually, onto me.

Apparently he was right about one thing because all his kids grew up to be very successful professionals who are, clearly, loved by their friends and coworkers.  But the same can´t be said as to their, more personal, emotional side of the equation.  My parents, like many others, were born into a tough environment marked by hardship and emotional negligence; everybody has an explanation...


Making up my mind to travel to India was not an easy task; it was, by far, the toughest decision I'v ever had to make.  My mom had responded pretty harshly but that was nothing compared to how ridiculously terrified I was about telling my father.

I made up my mind the next morning.  Crazy as it sounds, I had a lucid dream where I was happily driving with some friends in the countryside and we stopped to see the night sky.  For some unbeknownst reason we could see the planets in our solar system.  I could see Saturn, Jupiter, and mars perfectly; it was a stunning site.  The dream was so impressive that I woke up questioning whether it was real or not.  Of course, it couldn't have been real but it somehow felt that way!  I went on my smartphone and looked up it's meaning.  The interpretation told me to go for it and, just like that, I wasn't afraid anymore.  I knew exactly what I had to do.  Talk about some crazy shit, huh?

There is something in the dreamworld that has always fascinated humanity and I've had a couple of dreams that have marked me so deeply that I'll always remember them.  This dream, however, was one of the most enchantingly fascinating experiences that I have ever had.  I started dreaming a lot more since the journey began but this was something that falls short of words; it was beautiful.


Coming back to reality now; there was something huge that I needed to accomplish.  More than merely taking a decision, it was facing my father and taking the step into becoming a man. A step that I should have taken a long time ago.

Based on my track record with my dad, I thought he was going to tell me to go fuck myself with a popsicle and command me to come back home.  What actually happened was completely unexpected...

As soon as I sent him the message through the BB chat I could see him writing and stopping repeated times.  The fear I felt for what was coming made every passing second seem like an eternity but when the message finally arrived, it proved, yet again, how wrong I was about everything;  I had a hard time keeping the tears from gushing out of my eyes. I wish I still had that heartfelt message.

He basically said, in the most compassionate and loving of ways, that this was my decision to take for it was my life to live and that if I thought this might help me sort things out, he was behind me 100%.
All of the sudden I remembered that awesomely loving dude that used to tell me that he loved me from here to the end of the galaxy and brought me presents every time he went on a business trip; that amazing child entrapped in a grown up´s body that used to laugh and play with me as if there were no tomorrow.  I remembered the times we played nintendo together and the times we wrestled joyfully on his bed as my mother made one of her dramatic performances on account that we were going to break the bed.  The terrifying monster was no more...

That´s my "Pops"; public servant, celebrity businessman, sportsman, and the most "solid dude" I know!

My ex's cousin was there when I read the message.  I was so relived and happy. It was as if life itself was patting me in the back for a job well done and all I ever had to do was to face that demon that existed only in mi mind.  I was ready for the next stage in this treacherous path I'd chosen, that I was sure of.  How ridiculously tough it was going to be, that I had no idea!

Chapter 8: Vienna

I arrived at Vienna sometime in the morning with vague instructions on how to get to my camping place (a friend’s brother's apartment, some dude I'd never met).  The immediate scenario was a bit trickier than before cause I didn't speak German and I didn't quite know what I was going to do there.  It was intimidating to not have a plan and I also had a massive hangover resulting from the two nice Australian blokes I’d met at the Venice train station.  We drank a whole bottle of Grants while waiting for the train's departure, they were even kind enough to show me off to my cart with a full glass of scotch.  What can I say, I had a “gift” for getting fucked up even when I didn’t intend to.  

Most people probably would've said, “Last night was awesome!”  I just kept asking, “Why the fuck does this keep happening to me?”  It’s not that I usually didn’t enjoy company, or the free drinks.  It’s just that I was now beginning to suffer from my thoughtless actions.  I'd had enough of getting drunk for no reason.  I was agonised by my very existence, suffering without a visible cause. 

I don’t think I need to elaborate how bitter and emotionally fucked up I was at the moment.  Life was showing me something that I needed to see but I was too blind to accept what was being brought to light.  I kept reliving my past as an excuse to avoid my present emotional reality, it was an excuse to keep on suffering.  I kept trying to blame some exterior force for what was going on inside me but there was nothing left to blame.  Life was forcing me to change skin and I had become too attached to my ego in order to realize what was actually taking place.

…The perfection of the city around me was pissing me off.  There was no more chaos, no more people yelling nor cars honking.  Everything around me was so organized and spotless but I felt as if there was a vicious slaughterhouse inside me running on overtime.  I was walking as fast as I could with that fucking backpack on my back, trying to escape my thoughts.  It was frustrating, I wanted to throw it to the ground and kick the shit out of it.  

As if that would've solved anything...

I walked all over Vienna without finding my friends place and the turmoil inside began bombarding my mind with madness. I was beginning to picture myself beating someone up for no reason; I was loosing it.

All of the sudden, I ran into a couple of police officers and asked one of the for help.  He didn’t even look at me.  He walked right in front of me, as if I were a piece of dirt on the side of the road.  My entrails started boiling up with rage just thinking of the stupid and racist piece of shit he probably was when the other officer came by and spoke to me with the kindest of tones “What can I help you with young man?”  I showed him the address and he proceeded to point me in the right direction.

It was right there that it first hit me.  I was dead wrong about my thought process; who was I to judge that other cop?  Maybe the guy didn't even speak english and, even if he did, what on earth did I think made me so special in order to receive royalty treatment when I labeled others the way I did?  I did have a tendency to judge and classify people before even giving them the chance...  Why did I have to expect so much out of others, especially from that total strangers?  

I was obviously privileged with the education that I had, why did I keep getting so angry when others misbehaved around me?  It was painful to ask these questions.  They led me to think that all of the assumptions I had about the people I disliked were mistaken and that I was the one who was wrong.

This was a harsh concept to grasp.  It was so incredibly difficult to fathom that I was the greatest problem in my life that I couldn't keep my cool the whole time I was in Vienna.  

As I arrived at my friend's place the turbulence within got a bit settled but anxiety was still present in my being.  The thoughts that came to my head were still unpleasant, but I had now shifted all that anger towards myself.  Every time a bus passed by the street at a high speed I could picture myself jumping in front of it.  Even as I walked by the canal, I had to switch lanes and walk on the other side of the road for fear that I would jump in and drown myself.  I wanted to die in order to relieve myself from the mental agony I was experiencing for once and for all. My ego longed for the eternal rest like a junkie craves a fix.  And so, another type of darkness comes to light.

This wasn't the first time that I  got suicidal thought, but the impulse was a frighteningly viable reality this time. I was walking the tightrope over the pits of a tragic end...

I think that is one of the greatest misconceptions Christianity has led (or used to lead) its followers to believe; they profess that people who commit suicide are destined to an eternity of suffering in hell while failing to understand that those people are actually already there.  Death is scary, and suicide is the most anti-natural impulse in a living being. Just imagine how much pain a person must be going through to be able to take their own lives...

No one knows for sure what happens after this life and it's completely inhumane to condemn those who, for unknown reasons, end up taking their own lives but I'm pretty sure that there is a better way out of that hell.  Was I not so sure of it, this story would have ended long before it even started...

My ego was hurting badly and now I had no one to help make things right.  There was no Dr. Leo to calm my crazy mind, no priest to soothe my agonizing conscience, and no mother (nor drugs) to pamper that egotistical baby that didn't want to grow up.  It's curious how that works; if given enough power and emotional nurture (or pleasure) to form attachments, your protector becomes your jailor.  It's been humanity's everlasting existential battle but, I'm thinking, maybe it doesn't have to be this way.  Maybe we can change this.

I'm thinking of extending my travels and venturing into India, going further down this rabbit hole with the hopes of finding a clear answer to my problems.  It sounds a bit cliche, yeah, I know!  But I remember hearing my brother's tales about his two month travels through that ancient land.  For some reason, I had been thinking about it since I began traveling but I never saw it as a viable destination for this journey until now.  Maybe that's where this whole thing unravels and I'll get to find the answers I've been looking for.  Maybe that's where I'll find peace...

Ps.  I feel I must clarify that Vienna is actually a beautiful city full of culture and history.  The city seems like a vivid representation of order and perfection, and the museums are quite something!  It's curious how one's emotional state can make a wonderful place look like a shit hole in the archives of our memories...

Ch. 4 Continued

A Change in the Winds

Stranded in Dublin (part 2 of 2)

It’s Monday now.  The sun’s up and shining; a rare sight in Ireland.  Everybody seems so happy, and excited as they get ready to go walk the poetically decorated streets of Dublin.  Except for me.  I am, yet again, hung-over and feeling more miserable than ever as I hopelessly think to myself, “This isn’t supposed to be happening!  I was supposed to get my visa today; they were supposed to have it ready by now.  I’m not even supposed to be here in the first place!” 

My hopes of moving on with my journey had been shattered when I reached the British embassy that morning with the illusion of flying onto London the very next day, but instead I was told that the paperwork might take up to fifteen more days.  That news destroyed what little hopes I had left, and I was now developing serious concerns for my well-being; I was already halfway crazy and I didn’t know how much more of Dublin my body would be able to take.  Every day that passed seemed to be exactly the same; I was stuck.  The situation seemed to be a downward spiral towards my perdition.

It all changed that day thou.  I was sitting around complaining about how depressing Dublin was to Bridget and a Canadian writer lady (that was also stranded in the hostel) when it happened.  Bridget had had enough of my nagging when the writer lady said something that was difficult to digest but penetrated my thoughts nonetheless:

“I had a friend that was in a similar situation to yours one time.  Have you ever considered that maybe it’s not that Dublin’s a depressing city but that maybe you’re a bit depressed right now and that’s why it all seems so shitty?”

My ego tried to convince me of her misjudgment but, deep down inside, I knew she was right.  I was so perplexed that I didn’t even leave the hostel that day; until night came, that is. 

There were a lot of new people at the hostel that night.  I started talking to a group of Brazilian girls that were drinking in the lobby.  I was doing pretty well for myself but things weren’t going to be that easy.  There was a German dude with us; he was really nice but a tad socially awkward, to say the least.  I met him the day before and he’d stuck to me like a piece of gum at the bottom of my shoe.  This guy was like a fucking robot; he had no social spark whatsoever and kept ruining the momentum for me by saying some insipid comment that would turn the joy of the moment into a dead and awkward silence.

I was struggling to keep the girls entertained without having this guy ruin it when Randy appeared accompanied by two girls and saved the day.  Randy always saved the day, that guy was all about friendship and having a good time.  The girls that showed up with him were Bosnian sisters that lived in Sweden and the youngest one was nothing short of spectacular.  She had a very pretty face with really short hair (“feminist, obviously”, I thought to myself), a sparkling smile, and a personality that would enchant an entire audience.  Her name was Alina.  The Brazilian girls quickly faded in the background of her presence.

We went out on town, first to a comedy show at a pub called Shebeen Chick.  Randy and I already knew comedian Danny O Brien from the night before (a very talented chap!) and we got to meet another comedian called Trevor Browne that was absolutely brilliant.  The show was wild that night!  After the show we stuck around talking about life and people in general.  Both Randy and Alina seemed a bit skeptic about the future of the world so I felt the impulse to go on a roll about what I thought of “bad” people and why they do bad things:

“I firmly believe that nobody is a bad person because they choose to be, but rather find themselves playing the role of the bad guy out of emotional ignorance…  Sometimes people are just unaware of what they are feeling and get driven by a negative emotion into doing something they didn’t really mean to and then the ego comes and tricks us into justifying our wrongful behavior…” and other stuff like that as I tried to convince Randy and Alina that there was still hope for mankind.  I understood where they were coming from; it’s easy to loose faith in people when someone dear lets us down.  The chat was very spontaneous but apparently they loved what I said.  Alina told me she thought I was an inspirational person; curiously enough, I thought the exact same thing about them.

We later went to another club, yet again, refusing to let the night come to an end. I must confess that I was really attracted to Alina but my friend Randy beat me to her; a bit discouraging but I still felt happy for them. 

The next day was not that bad considering the fact that I’d been drinking every day for almost three weeks, and drinking heavily for past five days.

After breakfast I just sat down in the lobby to write some stuff on my notebook.  It wasn’t long before I stopped to look around and saw one the most beautiful girls I’ve ever seen and, “what!?”  She was staring right at me!  I got nervous as I thought to myself “There is no way on earth I’ll ever have a chance with her,” but I still decided to go talk to her.  

My dark mood was setting a horrible tone to my voice: I was bombing it!  Still, she was quite lovely to talk to.  Her name was Gaia; she was a young French actress that was traveling with a group of friends.  I wanted to rip my heart out of my chest and hand it to her right then and there but my attitude was all wrong and I was probably getting that condition, more commonly seen in adolescents, where they fall in love with any beautiful girl they meet for lack of self appreciation.  She did inspire me thou…

I walked away to put some thought into my situation and decided, “Fuck it! I’m done with being miserable!  Tonight I’m going to have fun and tomorrow I’ll go get my passport and skip London.”  I had had enough of waiting around for things to get better. 

Come nightfall I was more relaxed and didn’t really feel the impulse to drink right away.  I met up with a couple of cool Israeli girls with whom I’d had casual conversations over the past three days.  They invited me to have supper with them and we proceeded to meet up with everyone else in the lobby for some casual drinks.  It was weird thou, I wasn’t all-manic like the other nights and I was thoroughly enjoying the conversation with one of the Israeli girls; we’ll call her Rachel.  She was a pretty girl but not the type I’m usually attracted to; her charisma, however, was legendary. 

We went out to a club, danced, drank some beers, talked some more, and all of the sudden I realized something: “Wholly shit, this girl is into me!”  In that moment, I realized I had a real connection with her; all else seemed to disappear in the insignificant blur of the background noise.  I forgot about my problems, my worries, my shitty attitude, and realized I was having genuine fun for the first time in a while.  So, without putting further thought into it, I flipped my cap backwards and drove my lips into hers, caressing her in my arms as my heartbeat rose suddenly.  I could feel that emotional connection that brings two human beings onto a different level of communication.  I felt alive for the first time in many years.

“Ok.  Lets get out of here!” she said to me smiling with a suggestive tone of voice.  Can you say “Fuck yeah!”?  The excitement I felt was overwhelming, it felt as if I’d never had sex before!

We had a slight problem thou; her room had two other people in it and I was staying at the cheaper bunk-room with seventeen other roommates.  We looked around for alleys and parks but there was nothing I could see as a feasible option to “get it on” with her.  We finally ended up at the hostel where I noticed the door to the food dispenser was open.  I looked at Rachel and she nodded back at me approvingly, so we slid into the tiny room beside the reception and let ourselves turn into wild beasts for the spur of the moment.

As soon as we finished, however, the receptionist opened the door furiously and complained about our behavior with a nagging tone stating that there were “like a thousand better places to do it in”.  Dude had a solid point (Rachel had been a bit loud considering the situation) but whatever, I didn’t give a shit and I could tell that Rachel cared even less as she hid behind me, silently laughing against my back.  “It’s crazy how Europe makes you become such a slut,” she said, as we got dressed.  I wasn’t judging; that shit was awesome!  And it wasn’t the usual meaningless one-night-stand that leaves an empty whole that can only be filled with more craziness; I felt that I genuinely connected with her!

The next day, I woke up with a better mood and headed straight to the British embassy to retrieve my passport.  They apologized for not being able help me with my visa but it was all right; “some things are just not meant to be,” I thought.  When I got to the hostel I sat on the computer and was ready to purchase a ticket to Oslo when it occurred to me to check the passport and… there it was!  My own UK tourist visa. 

I was so confused that I sat there staring at it like a vegetable, trying to figure it out.  Still skeptical, I checked my e-mail and… there it was again!  The message of approval had arrived at my inbox fifteen minutes ago!  There are no words with which I could possibly describe the happiness I felt.  On that day, I finally stuck to my word; I didn’t drink a single beer.  Thou I also got a mad headache, was unable to fall asleep until about 4am, and woke up about two hours later, drenched on my own sweat.  A bit of withdrawal, I guess, was in order after all the drinking I had done. 

I had surpassed the first challenge of my adventure and learned many valuable lessons on this “eternally short” stay at the Ashfield House.  It’s curious that all I wanted throughout my stay was to leave and now that I was finally leaving I felt sad as I realized that the best part of my journey (on a social level) was over.  I couldn’t hold the tears from sliding down my cheeks as I boarded the bus to the airport while thinking of all the wonderful people I’d met and all I’d lived in such a short time.  It could have just been a result of the withdrawal, and/or the confusion form the emotional mess I was in.  The whole thing was like a flashback of my adolescence.  It didn’t matter anyways; I was now going to London and my adventure was just beginning!

Chapter 4: A Bump in the Road

Stranded in Dublin (part 1 of 2)

I arrived at the Ashfield House hostel on a Thursday afternoon; timing couldn’t have been better.  I had two nights to enjoy my 1^st hosteling experience, meet some people, and have some real fun before traveling to London on Saturday. 

The Ashfield House hostel is located right beside Trinity College and a couple of minutes walk away from the legendary Temple Bar area (a cool, medieval-looking historic district in Dublin that is full of pubs. It is pleasant to walk during the day, and especially renowned for it’s nightlife).  It was a neat hostel; cozy and comfortable.  It was the perfect place to stay for a couple of nights.

The first night I met some really cool peeps: there was Jens, the young Norwegian backpacker who had just arrived from hitchhiking the countryside (big balls on this kid!); there was Bridget, a young Australian journalist that was awaiting the arrival of her work permit from the British embassy in order to continue to her next destination where she would meet her boyfriend; there were a couple of other equally nice people hanging around, and then there was Randy, the Australian free spirited traveller (or hippie by conventional terms), who was also on-hold in Dublin while waiting for his work papers from the Chinese embassy.  This last guy was beyond awesome!  He reminded me of a childhood friend of mine that was one of the nicest persons I’ve ever met; like my friend, he was always smiling and friendly to everyone alike.  The dude just emanated good energy. 

We went out to the Temple Bar to shoot some shit and have some beers.  It was nice and we had a good time but, as the night came to an end, I felt that uncomfortable sensation throughout my body that usually drove me towards mayhem.  

It was horrible, I had to shut it down but everybody was going home, so I asked Randy if he knew where I could get some weed.  He told me he had some hash and he’d share it with me if I bought him a beer.  So I did and, after the beer, we went off to the river with Jens to smoke a joint, thou Jens didn’t smoke; he had some silly excuse for not doing so but I could tell he didn’t really want to smoke, he probably felt some imaginary "social pressure" creeping up on him cause Randy seemed pretty chill and it made no difference to me, I just wanted to get high.

The next morning was a bit tough on the old self-esteem because I’d promised myself I wouldn’t smoke in Europe, but it was nothing I couldn’t handle.  So I got up, took a shower, had breakfast and took a bus to the British embassy to retrieve my passport. Everything seemed perfect; the site of Dublin had never looked so cheerful.  When I got to the embassy, however, they told me that the visa wasn’t ready and they didn’t open on the weekends so I’d have to come back on Monday.  “Whatever…” I thought to myself “just a couple more days in Dublin.”  I was a bit bummed out but it wasn’t really that bad, I mean, I would have to lose a plane ticket I bought on discount and purchase another one but I’d eventually get to London.  It’s not like I had a choice anyways.

As the night arrived I thought I might take this Friday night for rest.  My friend Randy had gone camping and Bridget was above the whole crazy hosteling experience so I had no crew to go out.  Things were going Ok until I met a friendly Portuguese called Daniel (who barely spoke English) and an imposing Duchess called Madeleine (who spoke like five different languages fluently).  We had some beers and talked about traveling.  

They were both experienced world travelers: Daniel had been pretty much everywhere and Maddy had just arrived from a nine-month, solo-backpacking trip throughout South America!  I was impressed that Daniel had travelled everywhere without speaking fluent English but I was actually confused and a bit intimidated by Maddy’s courage of backpacking from Argentina to Colombia by herself.  Women like that just don’t exist in Colombia and, even I, as a dude, have to confess that I was fucking terrified to go backpacking by myself!  The only reason I went through with it was because I couldn’t get anyone to come along and my ex-girlfriend (with whom I still maintained contact) gave me the encouraging push I lacked in order to do it alone.  Listening to Maddy’s story made me realize how irrationally frightened I had become of life.

I went out with my new crew for a 2^nd round at Temple Bar where we met up with an extremely amicable friend of Maddy called Alex (the Polish madman!).  We drank so much I thought I was going to lose consciousness.  In the midst of the night, our crew split up because Daniel and Maddy wanted to grab a bite, and Alex and I went out, like a couple of horny teenagers, looking for women.  Thing was, however, we were already too drunk and sloppy to pick up anyone so we bombed pretty much every shot we took.  

At the end of the night, Alex told me to come over to his place but I was hesitant.  “Come on mate, it’s not like I’m going to try and shag you!” Insisted Alex, making me laugh.  The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. I just wanted to go to sleep and I knew where he was going with this; I’d seen this scenario before.  It happens when “unsatisfied” people get together at the end of the night and console their existentialist dilemmas with whatever drug they can find.  

Didn't take much to change my mind though.  I finally decided that I couldn’t let such an awesome guy hanging like that and my frail willpower gave in, so we ended up at his place, drinking and smoking tobacco pointlessly until dawn.  I just thank God he didn’t have any cocaine!

I woke up hours later with a pretty bad hangover and thought to myself “Fuck this, I’m never drinking again.”  Alex had passed out in a very uncomfortable position on top of a puff couch, right beside a small patch of his own vomit.  I woke him up to ask for directions to get back to the hostel.  We said goodbye and we agreed to keep in touch; it’s crazy to think I just met the guy last night, it felt as if he were a life-long friend. 

Anyways, I returned to the Ashfield house before lunch and went for a walk through Dublin without a particular destination.  Walking along those poetically medieval streets I ventured into the Polish neighborhood and purchased some food (bananas and pasta) because the Spar corner store next to the hostel was a complete rip-off and I wanted to save on food; I’d spent way more than my planned budget, primarily on booze.  My walk ended at around six in the afternoon only to enter the hostel and find Daniel and Maddy getting ready for a 2^nd night out on town.  I was happy to see them, but extremely anxious at the same time.

“Stay strong Rick, remember how horrible you felt this morning, you’re never drinking again.”  I said to myself as they greeted me and asked me about the denouement of the previous night.  “So, we’re a thinkin to goes to a different bar tonight, are yu ready?”  Asked Daniel with that thick Portuguese accent and a smile from ear to ear.  “Fuck no!” I said in my mind as I agreed joyfully and accepted the beer he was extending my way.  

I drank the first sip of that bitter and sparkling golden liquid thinking, “I’m such a social prostitute!”  I was a bit reluctant at first, still moody, but before I knew it, my bottle was empty and my frown had turned upside down.  Of course, I then proceeded to run out the door and into the overly-priced corner store to buy some more beer. 

On this night, I was on fire!  I felt full of energy and extremely happy; there was no stopping me.  I met a group of lovely Belgian girls (that we later invited to tag along) and a British high school rugby team that were all over the fucking place.  We went out for a 3^rd round at the Temple Bar and visited various different bars.  It was just Daniel and I, and like seven girls, thou I think Maddy wasn’t too fond of the competition, and we ran into the crazy rugby guys in one of the bars later on in the night.  Crazy-fun night and I made some new friends but, come the end of the night, again, I was restless and anxious, and didn’t really want the night to end.  So, instead of accepting the run was over, I hung around the lobby of the hostel, drinking and smoking with a couple of the rugby guys. 

Among all the nameless blokes in the crowd I got to meet Murray, who seemed like quite a gentle man with a bit of a crazy touch, and Ed, who was as mad as a goat with a hint of gentleman.  Ed was a smart kid thou, he just had very … creative ideas (like getting naked and running around the roof of the hostel for no apparent reason, WTF!!  I know!).  Anyway, we drank some more and smoked some cigarettes until sleep could be delayed no longer.

The next day I woke up pretty banged up and crankier than ever thinking,  “Ok, now I’m never drinking again!  Thank God tomorrow is Monday.  Only two more days to go…” but the thought wasn’t comforting at all.  I didn’t want to be there anymore.  I felt angry for no reason and I was beginning to loose hope.

I went to walk along the streets and, for a moment, I caught myself reliving fights with my boss and obsessing over how much I hated him.  I remembered all the times he disrespected me, treated me like I was stupid, and all the obvious lies he told me.  I dreamed of assassinating him with my bare hands.  It was completely macabre and insane.  All of the sudden, I caught myself breathing heavily and clenching my teeth.  I felt the intoxicating sensation anger produces going down my neck spreading through my chest and into my arms. 

Now that shit was not normal!  I felt so worn out that I had to stop and sit down.  I took a couple of deep breaths to lower my heart rate and proceeded to write the guy a hate letter.  It felt great to let all that poison out, but I realized something was seriously messed up here (I mean, besides my daydreaming obsession of assassinating someone).  

It was graver than that.  I’d dreamed of killing people out of anger before but this was different.  Not that there's anything right about dreaming with killing someone but I was on vacation in Europe.  I’d quit my job like two months ago and my boss wasn’t even in my life anymore.  I felt like one of those crazy people you see in the streets fighting with ghosts. 

Morning walk ended faster than usual so I parked myself on a couch in the hostel lobby, obsessed with a new thought for which I had no explanation,

“There’s something fishy going on here…”