sometimes the farm feels like a prison. rows of fields stretching out empty just like my bed just like my nights. i know every inch of this land but god knows i know nothing of human touch.
dublin is three hours away. three hours of country roads and my old toyota pickup rumbling underneath me. three hours to think about what im gonna do what im gonna pay for what im gonna feel. the anticipation starts in my gut somewhere around Carlow.
city girls dont understand rural loneliness. they see an ad on a website and think its just about sex. but for me its about connection. even if its paid for. even if its temporary. sarah was recommended on the forums. polish girl works out of a flat near grafton street. clean place decent rates.
the money hurts. 250 euro is a weeks groceries. but fuck it. ive been alone too long. the farm can wait. my machinery can sit. my sheep dont care if im gone half a day.
some nights the silence here is so loud it makes my ears ring. thats why i drive. thats why i book. thats why i need something real even if its just for an hour.