“We’re lost, aren’t we?”
“We’re not lost. I just don’t know exactly where we are at the moment.”
“Belgarath, that’s exactly what the word lost means!”
My clever plan to go forth to Temple Bar, find the comic shop and movie theatre, then to go back to Grafton Street for some shopping was partially successful.
For example, I found the movie theatre. I went there very much like I knew what I was doing, in fact. Mind, Dad had brought me over there a few days ago, and I’d been confused because it really didn’t look at all like the theatre I’d been to fifteen years ago.
Today I found out that was because it *wasn’t* the theatre I’d been to fifteen years ago. *That* theatre was the Savoy, and I found it accidentally during the hour I spent wandering back and fucking forth trying to get myself reoriented so I could get home. It was *incredibly* frustrating, because I was pretty goddamned sure that I was within a couple of blocks of where I needed to be, but I just could not for the life of me *get* there. After an hour of trying–which was after the hour of walking around with less purpose in mind–I finally gave in and called for help, because I just could not get myself pointed the right direction. As it happened, Dad was two blocks away and came and got me and yes, yes, I was within two freaking blocks of where I wanted to be, and the moment I got on the right street and could see the fucking bridge, I knew where I was and how to get home. :P
Having spent the last half hour glowering at maps of Dublin, it appears I was facing completely the opposite direction that I thought I was, and that I should have. Fuck. *grumpy face* I still have essentially no idea how I got that turned around. Dammit. Anyway, Dad rode up on a white horse and rescued me, which was very nice of him. :) AND he showed me where one of the comic shops is, so tomorrow I think I’ll go visit it.
I did manage to get hair dye and saline solution and lotion, which was one of my intentions for the afternoon. I didn’t get anything else, but I guess that’s just how it goes. It was, overall, an exercise in frustration.
Or, perhaps more accurately, an exercise *and* frustration.
miles to Mount Doom: 239