black cats and blacker days.

my mother, terribly blase about friday the 13th, would proceed to grow anxious and refuse to leave the house on the following day, stating that saturday the 14th was by far more unlucky. i don't know if this was due to some bizarre happening on the ship as our people came over from ireland, or if she was simply (and this is the much more likely of the two) a bit melodramatic and was flailing about, trying to be unconventional. as is, i tend to ignore either day outside of the humour that triskaedekaphobia usually brings into my life. i don't believe in luck.

please, don't be ridiculous. of course i believe in luck. no irishman or woman in his or her right mind could honestly claim not to be lucky. we have, after all, the luck of the irish, which may be the greatest and longest-standing curse in history, because after all, no one ever said all that luck that we have was going to be good. a genetic predisposition to alcoholism, the highest rate of child abuse in the EEC, repeated decimation... these things weren't so lucky. but we have lore and green hills in our hearts, and by god, we're all a bit touched by the fae, and what more could one ask for? we're one of the few people with the birthright of an interesting life, should we be daft enough to chose it.

last night, there was a black cat keeping vigil outside my back door. i know that's why it was there because that's what it said, though in a very matter-of-fact kind of way, a bit like those guards in england with the funny hats who can't break character, no matter what you do. like that, only more serious. strange, nonetheless.