Sherri Cornelius

So sleepy…Stupid people shot fireworks till 3 a.m.

foom…POP!
foom…POP!
foom…POP!

and then it would change to

POP…….crackle
POP…….crackle
POP…….crackle

for a while, then back to the foom/pop. Geez. They started late because of the rain, but all-told those assholes shot fireworks for four whole hours. Who does four hours of fireworks? How much did they spend on that? I couldn’t even watch because of the trees.

Around one I moved to the couch, where the ceiling fan muffled the sound, waking every so often, never going into a deep sleep. Then at 3:30 something(s) crawled all over my face. I shot up like a big screen girl after a nightmare, slapping my own face and neck in the dark. Something tickled my ear, so I rubbed it and found a small, firm lump in a crease, which I pulled off and threw across the room. To my credit, I did not shriek. Then I went to the bathroom and inspected my hair, neck and ears, certain I would find a billion gnat-sized baby spiders colonizing my hair, or worse, alien spiders colonizing my brain via my ear. I found nothing.

After inspecting the couch, my blanket and pillow, and the floor with a flashlight, I calmed down enough to notice the foom/pop had stopped. It took me a long time to get to sleep, what with my hair tickling my face and every itch an alien spider.

I finally did fall asleep, and that’s when I dreamed of wandering through Pamela Anderson’s house/amusement park/shopping mall searching for a bathroom. Whatever that means.

Didn’t get everything on my list done yesterday, but I had my reasons so I still feel I was productive.

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.