this morning #642.

this morning, for the first time in as long as she could remember, her day wasn’t planned around getting drunk as a skunk on green beer & shots of bushmills with a mixture of friends & randoms. on one level, she felt like her irish-american ancestors would be spinning in their graves if they knew her true feelings about america’s debaucherous tribute to the emerald isle. on a more consequential level, last year’s st patrick’s day had been an absolute mess. so much had happened that’d made her reassess. this stupid holiday was being used as an excuse for revelers to fuck & fight & make fools of themselves. they all played pretend, playing off outdated stereotypes. for her, no more.