The sun is actually warm today, warm on my fish-belly skin, even if March is locked deep in a winter that needs to get the fuck out of here, and the low tonight will be 17˚F. I hung my Irish flag in a window of the front parlour this morning, and the warmth of the sun shocked me.
All the world is all I am
The black of the blackest ocean
And the tear in your hand ~ Tori Amos
And, lest we forget...
Thank you, Walt Kelly. Absolutely nothing has changed since 1971, unless becoming more the enemy than ever before counts.
Meanwhile! Lá Fhéile Pádraig Sona Daoibh. Éire go Brách. And my favorite St. Patrick's Day link, which I post almost every year: Why Ireland has no snakes. Gagh. I so should not have used the green on that text. Looks like a frat boy (who very isn't Irish) puked up green beer on the screen. Ah, well. It is what is is. Oh, and to quote Warren Ellis: "Celebrate St Patrick's Day the English way: steal something from an Irish person and offer them a small, infected potato in return."
Yesterday, I wrote 1,430 words on Red Delicious and came to the first "sex scene" in all the Siobhan Quinn stuff. But then a tasteful fade-to-black saved me. I was not about to wreck the flow while characters took ten for a preternatural orgy. Also, there was some hilarious rp last night in The Secret World, with stsisyphus and another acquaintance (Hi, Inchy!). I'm not used to funny rp, but funny it was. In a dreadfully creepy tragic sort of way, but definitely fucking funny.
This evening, Spooky and I are having corned beef on rye (with sauerkraut and horseradish) and fries, and pretending it counts. I mean, there is corned beef, and cabbage, and potatoes in there. But I miss the years, back in the nineties, when I'd cook HUGE St. Patrick's Day dinners for friends: a brisket with cabbage, oxtail and barley soup, cál ceannann, soda bread, and Guinness, and jam cake. But now I am old, and all the birds have flown the nest, and I detest wasting food.