The neighborhood appears to still be standing, despite my Cheerios tasting like gunpowder this morning. I swear it sounded like artillery last night. The Mad Tortie was pretty unflappable, but Miss B needed both a straitjacket and sedation to make it through. This morning she keeps eying me narrowly, as if she suspects the peanut-butter treat she was given last night had something extra in it, but she doesn’t quite believe I would stoop so low. The Little Prince and Princess, of course, are sacked out and still sleeping hard.
It’s funny, I am a ball of nerves during fireworks season. The urge to dive for cover when the booming starts never goes away. Plus, every pet I’ve ever owned has been unhappy with the booming. But the kids love it, the louder and brighter and more surprising the better. I can’t remember if I was ever that enamored of loud noises and bright lights.
There’s plenty of work today, not least is which cleaning up the results of last night’s orgy of fire and brimstone. The street looks like a tickertape parade blew up and threw up all over it. And there’s this retelling of Cinderella I’m kicking around inside my head. Plus it’s time to put a pile of free stuff down at the end of the driveway, and the picnic table gave up the ghost a few days ago. So if I need to, I can get out the sledgehammer and spend a satisfying ten minutes beating the shit out of something.
Quite therapeutic. I hope your day goes as well.