Oh, this time of year… this day, this horrible horrible day.  It’s approaching again and everyone will wear green and drink and be happy. And I won’t.  I’ll be thinking of two miserable days, one right after the other – I’ll be thinking of you and myself and the anguish my life held and I would wish, wish, wish, for things to be different… but there’s no such thing as “the luck of the Irish”.  It’s as fake as the holiday itself.  Oh, this day…

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