Hi. My name is Ken and it’s been like four years since I wrote one of these. Don’t get it twisted, though, I’ve eaten a shit ton of pizza.
A lot has happened since the last slice I wrote about. My mom died. That fucking sucked. There would be times where her meds or her depression, or both, kept her from answering my texts and calls. Usually never longer than a day. I’d always get worried but she always ended up being fine so I kind of got desensitized. Her physical and mental health were both getting worse. I’d come by every week or so to take out some of her things trash or drop off meds. Her hoarding got to making her place nearly unlivable. Anyway, like two days went by and I got a bad feeling. I ended up going over there in the morning and…yeah. She was gone. I found cigarette packs and apparently despite being on a breathing machine she was still smoking. Doordash drivers or neighbors were getting them for her I guess. Official cause of death ended up being “complications from COPD exacerbation.”
Part of my grieving process has been travel. Once to Martha’s Vineyard with my friends. She used to tell me how much she loved a vacation she had there. It’s part of, if not the, reason she loved lighthouses. I feel like there’s so much about her I never got to know. Our relationship was rocky to say the least. When our dynamic became me worrying about her and taking care of her I got resentful. I think she did too.
The next place I traveled is where I am now - Ireland. She was so proud of her Irishness. Growing up she’d talk to me in her silly attempt at an Irish accent to make me laugh. The last few years she was an active member of Irish Facebook groups. She never got to actually travel here, though. Her anxiety about travel was so bad I’d doubt she would have been able to handle a plane. Anyway, I never left the country before so I got my passport and decided I’d see it in her honor. That’s how I ended up at Coke Lane Pizza @ Lucky’s in Dublin.
I should have anticipated that counter sliced would be rare to nonexistent. I can devour a pie of this size easily, though. And I did. I think I cost like €10. How many US dollars is that? Hell if I know. I can barely do simple math or tell which way is left and which way is right as it is. I’m constantly trying to do conversions and navigate in a backwards ass car on backwards ass roads. It’s been complicated to say the least.
Focus, Ken. Pizza. The pizza was fine. I liked the slightly charred crust. The cheese was good. There were directions on the side of the box about how you’re supposed to eat it. Like folding the slice and all that. They clearly don’t know who the fuck I am.
While consuming it I came to the bizarre realization that I’m alone. Not just like alone in another country, alone in the universe. I’m trying to work through what that means. How that makes me feel.
I’m getting tattooed right now and can only type with one hand and it’s frustrating and I’m in pain, so I’m gonna stop now.
‘til the next slice. (or whole pie)
