Fridays are deeply unhealthy days for me. Physically, emotionally, psychologically. Everything. I usually spend the day at a place that it kept at a temperature where we could hang meat in the living room, usually balancing on a ladder that should not be a ladder anymore, not eating, having several mental breakdowns, and then by the time I get home I’m so mad/sad/hurt that I drink. A lot.
Yep. It is a damn good thing I got my paper finished this morning, because my analysis of the Anglo-Irish War right now? OH MY GOD SHUT THE FRICK UP AND DEAL, IRELAND.
Did Britain ever die and leave you with wallpaper that needed to be peeled, but only after you stop crying about the note you found behind the security system because you seriously miss Britain like a lot? No. Did Britain ever send a loser handyman to your house an hour late only to tell you that he can’t do what you waited around for hours and hours but hey, this door is totes okay? No. Did Britain ever give you weird infections from Christ knows what is behind that wallpaper that just got shoved up your nail bed? Nooo.
Ethnic cleansing? Violated civil rights? Internment? Please. Ireland, call me when you have real problems.