As I just told the kids of all ages out front of my house, right on time my own personal fireworks have arrived. I changed into jammies, and put myself to bed to the sound of things still exploding in the street. It's okay. I waved around a few sparklers, watched a few fountains, and got very agitated when bigger booms started coming from the things they were lighting. A cop came by when the first bottle rocket went off, and reminded us that the bigger things are still illegal, even though it just rained like heck. That's fine, they said, we don't think we have those. And then the next thing that we thought was a fountain turned out to be small mortars. Oops. There might have been smoke billowing out from my baby spirea bush that I have been trying to grow larger for four years, from a little misfire from that one.
My anxiety was bad enough that by the time they started with the flowers (the ones I hate the most), I sat on the inside of the storm door, and watched for a few minutes. Then my tummy told me the fun and games were over, so now I'm in bed. I took it super easy all day, ate very little until the kids brought over picnic foods, and as promised, I avoided all alcohol. So far the effects aren't quite as painful as last cycle, and I'm better prepared with medications at my bedside.
Happy Independence Day, y'all. It's a weird one.
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