We did some small fireworks last night, and I have to tell you, I hate ‘em. I don’t mind going to a show where it’s somebody else’s responsibility, where they have controls on hand, where I don’t have to worry about all the things that could go wrong. Of course Maggie Rose burned her finger, and of course the yard is now littered with trash, and of course it’s too dry to have fire, but do any of those things matter? Do I get a say? Nope. It’s the 4th. We have to have fireworks. Every year it’s the same effing thing. It used to be my favorite holiday. Holidays are stupid. Let’s stop having them.

This evening one of my brothers may stop by and my mom and step-dad are coming. We’re having hot dogs and the rest of the fireworks. My favorite gatherings involve very little planning. Somehow I got the idea that planning every aspect was the only way to do it, but as I get older and more defiant I’m surprised to find Miss Control Freak actually does better when things just happen as they will. Except when it comes to safety.

Happy Independence Day, friends. I hope you don’t get bernt.