Knowing that this feeling of my heart squeezing tears up to my throat when we say goodbye will be replaced by the feeling of my heart thumping like a jackhammer when I walk through the arrivals gate yet again on Friday morning.

I went on a girl date.

Not just any girl date, but a blind girl date.  So blind, in fact, that I don’t think the other girl knew it was a girl date.  But for me, it was a chance to make a connection with another girl, to establish a friendship in a new environment, so that when I arrive in Ireland I won’t be totally alone, friend-wise.

My boyfriend, orchestrator of the date and thus the modern day equivalent of the very attractive Rashida Jones, teased me mercilessly before and after.  Was I nervous?  What would we talk about?  He escorted me there, made small talk, and then very cleverly excused himself to go back to work.  It went pretty well, but she played it cool.  When I met my boyfriend again later, he asked how long I was going to wait to friend her?  Would I write on her wall, or send or a message, or just not?  What did we talk about?  Were there sparks?  Did she like me?  Did I like her?  Do I think we’ll connect again when I get back to Ireland?*

I said later, “You know, scenarios like this are why all my friends used to think I was actually gay!”

What happened to making friends?  It used to be so easy.  High school was, in looking back, awesome: hanging out with your friends all day, doing minimal work, and talking back to teachers who didn’t really mind.  There was no real pressure to bond with anyone, you just did because they were there, all day every day.

I haven’t made a real friend since then.  College was a total wash in that regard — it was impossible for me to connect with many people at BC, and I drifted from the few that I liked.  Those that I made at Trinity are either gone to their respective home countries or hate me because I’m beautiful (read: dating someone beautiful).  Even now that I’m back home, I see my best friends once a month, if that.  I’m not forced into anyone’s company for very long, so nothing lasts.

I know most of that’s my own fault.  I’m a recluse, and I don’t enjoy going out in America, and so when I’m invited places I just decline and go back to playing with my stuffed animals.  But I’m not talking about at night.  I mean, don’t most people have those friends they can call up to go to lunch?  That they can jump into conversations with without having to first ask everything polite, because they talk so much that they already know what they’re up to?  That have long phone calls for no reason and throw birthday parties for each other?

I don’t know what I’m talking about, I never made a friend-friend at BC so I don’t know how we girls are supposed to interact at this age.  The last all-girl several-hour get-together I had involved pasta salad, boxes of chocolate, and Love Actually, and that was Christmas 2008.  All I know is, college is over in a few months, and for the rest of my life I will be desperately reaching for connectible points in every female interaction I have.  Topics of conversation I’ve got in my repertoire: menstruation, Taylor Swift, commitment, Ellen DeGeneres, going to bed early.  Any other girly talking points I should brush up on?

*She friended me back!

1. Graduate magna cum laude.
2. Apply for working holiday visa and get it accepted, post haste.
3. Get a career-relevant job in Ireland.
4. Get a nice apartment that feels like my own.
5. Pick up a new hobby that I feel passionately about, that I want to tell everyone about.  Alternatively, become an expert on something.
6. Make new girl friends.
7. Never stop putting money into savings, no matter how small.
8. Make more money than I spend.
9. Visit at least two new countries.
10. Reconnect with some European friends, in person.  Call more often, too.
11. Spoil Someone everyday.

No, nostalgia is definitely not what I got.  Not nostalgia for Ireland, anyway.  I got some old and some new instead.  Went to some new restaurants — went to some old pubs — saw some new castles — saw some old faces — scoped out some apartment developments — waved to my old house at Beechwood — saw London for the first time — couldn’t wait to get back to Dublin after — saw an inch of snow shut down two of Europe’s most prominent cities — saw Irish kids building an army of snowmen like never happens here anymore — spent an inordinate amount of time in the airport — spent even longer snuggled up inside.

It was a really great trip all around, something I needed badly.  First semester was a rough time.  Nothing in particular was rough about it — nobody died, lost their job, or broke up — but personally, I never seemed to get on my own two feet for very long before something would trip me again.  By the time December 29th hit and I boarded my flight, all I could think was, FINALLY!!!

The three weeks flew by, as I knew they would, but approaching the end wasn’t as DREADFUL, ABSOLUTELY DREADFUL as it was the last time I left Ireland, or the consequent times that my boyfriend left Boston.  After sitting around most weekdays while my boyfriend went to work, I grew pretty restless and ready to jump back into my own work.  I sobbed like a baby in the airport for a few minutes, and then I composed myself and felt okay.  It was maybe the fastest recovery time I’ve had since leaving him.

Now, for the next three weeks, I’m just going to do homework and make bank.  This semester is the beginning of the end, but let’s be honest: College was never what was important to me.  So really — and more importantly — this is just the calm before the next beginning.