Soma is a prescription drug, similar to valium

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Is it the 15th? What the fuck? It’s been a pretty crazy last couple of days. It all started on Sunday. Out you went with the other Wwoofers for a 3.5 hour walk all around Wicklow County–shit, you were half-way to Dublin before you all stopped walking. Gave Marlene a call, who was out drinking with friends in a little town called Newcastle. She had Niel come pick you up, but due to a little… I guess you’ll call it drama… Niel was not happy during the drive. You, Stephanie, and Amelie found yourselves crammed in the back of a station wagon, Ed up front. It was everything you could do to refrain from puking all over the French girls as Niel wheeled the car around Irish corners.

After you arrived at the pub, Marlene introduced you to three people. First there was Steve, a near-60-year-old hippie that reminds you of a more eccentric version of Douglas. There was Quentin, or ”Q,” a bloke from Limerick whose words were mostly incomprehensible. Finally, there was a woman named Soma–literally after the drug from Brave New World (one of your favorite books!). You couldn’t get over her name, and told her that once upon a time, you used to be prescribed Soma for your back; it is similar to valium. And, God Almighty, this woman was staggeringly beautiful. You didn’t want her to see you staring at her, but then it suddenly occurred to you that the reason she kept catching you in the act was because she was doing the same. The two of you were holding eye-contact all night–very hard to pull away from that gaze.

Marlene insisted on driving the Wwoofers home in two shifts. As she was calling you to come to the fucking car along with the Belgians, Soma leaped out of her seat and insisted you stay at the pub–ordering you a shot of Jagger and a beer, snaking her arms around yours, and your waist. Beautiful woman wrapped around you… shit, how could you say no?

Just a few minutes later, the two of you were locked in a bathroom stall together, blowing lines of South American cocaine off the back of the toilet. More coke in one baggy than you ever thought you would encounter just randomly–a rock the size of a two-year-old’s fist. Then she was holding a godddamn SPOON FULL of the stuff–holding it right up to your face. Then taking some herself–dipping her nose down, laughing, and coming up with the shit all over her chin and the tip of her nose. Pretty tense moment for you, you must say–the two of you laughing and dipping into the bag and wiping it off faces. Would have loved to fuck her right then and there in the stall, were you not concerned about Q’s role in her life, and your own ability to read women’s signals. She said to you on the walk back to the table that, yes, she’s a bit of a puzzle. Flirt.

The remainder of the time you were at the pub, she stayed pretty closely pressed up against you, which was certainly welcome. It was enough. Several beers/shots of Jagger, and a couple spliffs later, when the sun had gone down, Steve called a taxi and you all shuttled to a house belonging to… does not matter.

You’ll not get into the details of the personal situations of these people. Not your business to advertise online. You’ll just say that you seemed to suddenly get thrust into the middle of a tumultuous situation involving this family. Soma had it out with Steve. You decided to give them some privacy, and join Q in the kitchen, where he proceeded to tell you many more details about Soma, Steve, and the rest.

Soma split outside, and shrugged Q off when he tried to talk her down. You grabbed your glass of wine and thought maybe she could use the company of another girl–which she gladly accepted. Eventually she grabbed her little lunchbox full of drugs and led you to her boss’s Audi, where the two of you proceeded to spend the remainder of the night.

God knows where the hours went. You talked to Soma, about 15 years of serious addiction, 5 years of an abusive relationship–the whole damn thing. There was definitely enough back story to her to justify the heaviness she exuded in the first moments of meeting her. You wiped tears from her cheeks, shared a brief consoling kiss, and she eventually pulled a ring off one of her fingers and insisted that you have it. If only you could remember why it was so important–this gift. She really liked you, she said. And she can’t fuck with Q. End of story. More coke. Four bottles of wine, two Xanex, and half a pack of cigarettes later, you were both found in the Audi at 9am, thereabouts, coke covering the dashboard like a layer of dust.

You can’t say you’ve never done this with someone before–stayed up all night, coked out, talking about everything under the sun. But this woman was just riveting. Her life, her stories, her intensity. Fucking enjoyable from the get-go. It sure as hell helped that she was gorgeous, and that she seemed to dig you. Oh yeah, and weird as it sounds, there was just something sexy about her foul mouth; never have you met anyone who so liberally used the words ‘slut,’ ‘cunt,’ and ‘twat’ to describe… well… pretty much everything. You suppose all those vaginal words were simply resounding off the dyke in you.

When you woke up, you each tanked a couple more beers, and then she led you off to a spare room in the house. You crashed on the bed upside down. She turned you around, fetched you a glass of water, and gave you a somewhat maternal kiss goodnight.

Goodnight indeed. 22 hours later, you woke up. Twenty-fucking-two. Slept through the day, through the night, and into the next morning. Woke to the sound of Soma’s baby nephew crying in the living room. Soma was still asleep, as was Q. Steve was missing in action, which turned out to piss off a lot of people later. You did not get to say goodbye, but Soma’s sister reckoned you would all cross paths again. You hope so.

Seems that you were missed back on the farm the last two nights. Edouard had no one to help him initiate nighttime card games, and the girls ignored him for their books. Amelie took over the responsibility of pudding making (Sylvia, if you are reading this, your poor-man’s pudding is a hit!). You tried to put in a few hours of work outside, digging, weeding… but as the day wore on, your withdrawal symptoms just seemed to increase. Passed out for a couple hours on top of the 22-hour hibernation. When you woke again, Douglas and his buddy Angus were out by the pool, drinking beers and smoking. You joined them for your daily dose of slagging; Angus has a new nickname for you: Obi-wan. Where the fuck it came from, no idea. The day ended with a sort of panic, as everyone began to realize that there were policemen parked outside the driveway. Angus, who’d just dealt a giant ‘chocolate bar’ to Niel, peaced out to–what you all think–bury the goods somewhere in the garden. Jesus. Everything just mixes with a little dose of ridiculous.

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Categories: Ireland, Parties | Leave a comment

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