Fireworks

Every year I think that I kind of start to understand fireworks a little better, but this year was a step backwards in my progress. In the past, I have always just eased my anxious boredom at the 4th of July with the knowledge that they make r so happy. Unbelievably happy. I have tried so hard to find something new in them, something interesting, or jesus, just to enjoy the pretty patterns. Usually, at least in the past couple of years, its worked. But this year I could not stop thinking that this is the same fucking thing we saw the year before and the year before that. I wanted to go home. I was hating the fact that they didn't start until 11:15 and knowing that we wouldn't get to the car until at least 12:30. I wasn't tired, but I wanted to go to bed so I could get up at 5 the next morning and escape into my run. I was angry at the fireworks for making me angry at r for caring so damn much about them. Jealousy? Perhaps.

But it wasn't the fireworks fault. Or r's. It was mine. Because at that moment I was coming to understand that my days for the past few months have consisted of me trying to find small moments of escape. For example, I discovered that the 30 second walk to the bathroom at work is just enough for a snippet of fantasy. The trip to the animal facility is slightly longer, so it gives a little more time for elaboration. But nothing beats the sometimes solid 2 hours of being totally in my head while I run.

This is why I was so pissed. Because life, my admittedly good life, was getting in the way of my daydreaming.