To the French Border and Back

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It is said that if you want to get to know someone you should take a trip with them. I do not think that is always true but in this case it has proven to be.

Last weekend I took a trip to a beautiful mountain area near the French border. That meant a 10-11 hour drive from where I live. What a painful trip. I not only got to know someone, but I (I think we) actually realized we had nothing in common, or at least not as much as we thought. By (very very very very very) far not enough to be friends.
Too many conversations repeated. Too much looking out the windows.

It’s true that it wasn’t my best weekend at all. I’ve been in a bit of a bad (horrible) mood lately. On Friday, right before the trip I left work early, pretty pissed off, and with a big slam on the door. No looking back and no regrets about it.
I haven’t been this frustrated and upset with life in a long long time. It is not nice, it is scary. Last time I was feeling this way I made a huge mess of myself and therefore of my life.

Lovely place though. And lovely people. I loved the small town feel, the quietness and the simplicity of everyday. Wonderful. I wished I could enjoy that kind of life.

After the trip my not-so-wild guess is that my friend and I won’t probably be seeing much of each other for quite a while. But that is ok with me.

In the end it might be true that I hate most men who love me, they pass right through me like a ghost.

(This post best read while listening to:
So Cruel by U2)

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