Us Irish know how to party.

What an interesting weekend. All plans thus far have fallen through, but that's pretty typical. New ones have been made and have probably been more fun than the initial ones. Friday was a wreck, but a noteworthy day in history. The history of Brooke, that is. A best friend proved his compassion and showed me how much he truly cares, which I really needed to see. I was forced to cope with the hopefully brief, but possibly total loss of old friends... and had the unfortunate realization that they probably don't even give a shit. And I also met someone who may prove to be very beneficial to my future. Eventful.

Today is St. Patrick's Day. At least it was. I'm writing this after a few drinks, so please bear with the typubf errors. (Just kidding). I managed to fall down the stairs tonight, so I suppose that qualifies this Irish holiday as successful. I hate being clumsy. My scraped up arm and sprained hand are certainly paying for it. I blame the shoes.

Things are good. I feel like I need to say that, because it's true. Things haven't been this good in a long time. Lately when things are bad, it's simply due to my reminiscence of how things were. And wow... I truly can't believe I managed to spell "reminiscence" right.

K. Enough seriousness. Pray that my limbs aren't 17 times more sore tomorrow morning when I wake up. And that Boris Yeltsin will makes its way out of my head once my head hits the pillow. Night, all.