I’m a bad Catholic because I forgot yesterday was Ash Wednesday.

No ashes on my forehead.
No quiet moment of reflection.
Just me today — completely exhausted, emotionally wrecked, and very drunk — trying to survive another damn day.

Family drama is crushing me.
There’s a possible death coming in my family and my heart feels like it’s already breaking in advance.
Work is overwhelming me to the point where I feel like I can’t breathe.
I haven’t been sleeping. My mind won’t shut off. My body is running on fumes.

So here I am, hoping getting drunk might finally let me sleep. Hoping it’ll quiet the noise in my head long enough for me to rest. Hoping I don’t wake up tomorrow feeling worse than I already do.

Life doesn’t pause for holy days.
Grief doesn’t care about tradition.
Trauma doesn’t check calendars.

Some days survival doesn’t look like prayer — it looks like doing whatever you can to make it through the night.

If God is watching, I hope He understands.
I didn’t forget Him.
I just forgot the date while my world feels like it’s falling apart.

I’m not fasting.
I’m not reflecting.
I’m barely holding myself together.

I’m just trying to make it to tomorrow.