March 17, 1992
I wake with a yawn and a stretch at the ungodly hour of 7 am running on fumes from the night before. Quickly I shower, not really understanding why, since the day is sure to be wrought with foul odors and spilled beer. It is St. Patrick's Day in Oneonta, NY. I am in a race against the clock. I throw on heavy boots and a giant wool sweater, you know the ones that smell like sheep and are seen in abundance at Dead shows. There is 2 feet of snow on the ground. Quickly I locate the whereabouts of my illegal identification that says that I am 21 and hit the road. It is very important to get in line for General Clinton's Pub, but 7:30am, to ensure that you are one of the lucky recipients of their annual St. Patty Day T-shirts. The line is 50 people strong....
March 17, 2011
I wake with a growl and a stretch at the ungodly hour of 7am to a small voice exclaiming that. "Mommy, I am awake." Wiping the sleep from my eye I begin my Groundhog Day existence of doing the same thing I did yesterday. Today I decide that maybe I will actually shower since my hair is beginning to hurt. I toast some waffles, cut up some fruit and feed the animals waiting for their meal. Several minutes later I am wiping someone's butt and refereeing the latest dispute over anything and everything. Lunch is served and thankfully it is a school day. I drop Sprout for her meager 3 hour hiatus and return shortly to retrieve her. I make a small detour at the liquor store on the way home for some beers (they are sold out of cold Guinness) Get home and pop one open. Fuck - it's 5 o'clock somewhere. Happy St. Pat's 2 Me.
