This is a long one, I suppose to make up for the lack of posts the past few days.

Sunday was quite possibly one of the most stressful days of my life. I got up early and got ready all over again, then headed out to the bus stop because Josh hadn’t answered my text asking if he was doing okay. I waited in Spar for about an hour… No sign of Josh. I walked back to my room and Skyped his brother, Bobby, to tell him I was worried. Bobby couldn’t get in touch with him either.

After walking the ten minutes back and forth from the bus stop four times, I finally found out that Josh’s plane had landed 80 minutes late. I also realized that his phone probably wasn’t working here in Ireland. But I still couldn’t find him. His plane landed at 10AM, and come 2PM, still no Josh. I had no idea what to do, and I was freaking out.

The fourth time I walked back to my apartment, I saw a message from Bobby saying that Josh had called his grandma collect to tell her to tell Bobby to tell me that he was going to wait for me at Trinity College - about ten yards from where I’d just spent the last hour standing, hoping to see him. So I grabbed my shit and RAN back down to Grafton St.

I found my poor baby doubled over, sitting on his carry-on suitcase in the entrance of the college, freezing to death. I started crying, he started shaking, but then all was well. I walked him back to my room - where he had apparently walked to, passed, and left to go back to the college earlier that morning. I didn’t care; he was here with me now.

I warmed him up, made him some toast, let him talk to his brother, and put him to bed. I got some groceries while he slept and made some mediocre pasta and garlic bread that he said was fabulous. Then we went to bed and passed out next to each other on my hard, tiny twin mattress. It was fabulous.

When he first got here, he gave me some stuff my sister had sent for me, like magazines and vitamins and chapstick. Then, he said, “I was gonna wait but I’m just going to give you this now because I’m already too stressed.” He handed me a beautiful purple box. I half expected it to be earrings or something, I guess so I wouldn’t get my hopes up. I opened the box, and there was a beautiful, absolutely perfect ring inside.

No, he didn’t propose. But it is a promise ring, and he said someday I’ll have to move it to my right hand when he has a new one to put on my left. I am quite happy.

I wish I could tell you about all the not-so-exciting touristy shit we did while he was here, but we really didn’t do anything. We ate at some good restaurants, including the Hard Rock Cafe, and looked around the National Photographic Archive. But he didn’t feel well the first couple days, and after that, he said he was just happy to be with me. Now, this is important. This is a new discovery of something else we have in common: When we’re on vacation, we don’t like being made to feel that we should do certain things because of where we are. We don’t like learning about various histories and shit; if it ain’t a beach or an amusement park, forget it. And let’s face it: Dublin is not Islands of Adventure. So we both happily lied around the apartment most of the time he was here, soaking up each others’ hormones. And boned.

Oh yes, there was boning. And it was fabulous. And I’m pretty sure Kate and her friend Janet heard it Tuesday night.

So what was the actual plan Josh had to execute while he was here? Let’s just say it’s not appropriate for children. But I was right about one thing - he gave me a ring. And I am loving having this thing on my finger.

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