(no subject)

I'm so hungry, but there isn't really much to eat in the house... half-recipes. "I have the butter, but not the cheese. I have the noodles, but not the sauce." Etc. The perils of a fixed monthly income: a bare larder during the first and last week of every month. And I'm a big eater, and I hate not doing the shopping, because then essential things like lunch meat don't get bought, and inessential things like blueberry bagels do. At the moment I do not even have mac-and-cheese. Ramen, maybe.

I think I offended someone the other night, I think I implied that I was bored talking to them, which isn't the case... I'm often bored on the internet. (I replied "to alleviate boredom" when asked why I do something that I do a lot when I'm online, which is that I browse online shops.) It feels like it's getting more and more difficult to find interesting content lately. I like to know what's out there, what's available and where.

I had one of those weird moments earlier... when I was having my smug little alfresco breakfast the other day, I got an insect bite on my ankle, which I have been scratching as though it holds the secret to all existence. Scratch, scratch, scratch earlier this evening, and... why is my hand wet? My fingers came up covered with blood, just enough to feel bloody. I jumped up and cleaned the blood off my ankle, trying not to drip everywhere and feeling foolish. Kids, leave those insect bites alone! A news report today said that Deep Woods Off was the best mosquito repellent, but I prefer Skintastic, even though it makes the pad of my thumb swell up. MAYBE if I had been wearing repellent while slurping my coffee in the driveway at 8AM, I wouldn't have had blood dripping down my careless little leg this evening.

I feel unenthusiastic today. "Ever to confess that you are bored means that you have no inner resources."

oh crash my bash it's bang the zang...

I'm talking again.
I should be in bed. Or in the other room watching AbFab reruns (are they on tonight?) and packing books. Oh, it's really funny to accumulate a collection of several thousand books when you have to move. All of those "I'll read that someday"s come back to HAUNT.

Anyway, I don't really do anything about the 4th of July, although some people have been making some noise about a "small picnic" this year (the only thing worse than a "small picnic" is a "large picnic" or a "family reunion" or... anything else that requires trying to keep flies and bees off of bad food). Fireworks are boring; I see them frequently; I loathe crowds and mosquitos; the only thing lamer than fighting the mad rush to see fireworks is watching fireworks on tv.

But I do have a purpose here, and that is to record my favorite Independence Day story. I believe this happened in 1986, because I think it was the year that the Statue of Liberty had its centennial and restoration, and I also recall Halley's Comet being around. The momster and I lived on a college campus, where she worked, in a house owned by the college. Just beyond our backyard, which was a negligible tangle of trees (we had a huge yard beside the house), there was a large softball/baseball field, with a row of trees between my driveway and the outfield, and a gap that you could just walk through. Overall, the neighborhood was very charming and old; most of the houses dated from between 1870 and 1930.

So, this year, celebrations were located at my house, and numerous relatives were around. My youngest uncle was the age that I am now, and I was 10. He and his buddies had brought over some fireworks, which were illegal and difficult to acquire in the state of Ohio at the time. The bottle rockets and spinning flowers that you could get at the store were all well and good, but the prize of the day was a couple of large firecrackers, serious firecrackers the size of a man's thumb, from Pennsylvania or Indiana or some other foolhardy firework-selling state.

We spent a fairly normal family holiday until sometime in the mid-afternoon... tossing a football around, lighting bottle rockets, drinking Pepsi and eating Cheetos. Eventually, though, my uncle and his friends plotted their big show: setting off the firecrackers. There was much ado as we gathered around and waited for it to be lit. Once the fuse was lit, my uncle threw it as hard as he could, expecting it to explode in the air.

The resounding BOOM was no surprise, but the fact that the ground shook a little, and that we hadn't seen the explosion, certainly was. We crowded through the gap in the trees and stared saucer-eyed at the firecracker's remnants: a hole in the field about the size of a manhole cover, six inches or so deep, blackened and smoking, with little flames around the edges.

Eventually Campus Security showed up and we kids did our best at looking innocent as my uncle lied through his teeth about the origins of the crater. No, sir. We heard the noise but we have no idea where it came from. Fireworks? Well, we have these spinning flowers, and the magic worms, but nothing serious! I mean, we have kids here. Have to protect them. My cousins and I kept our mouths shut and bit the insides of our cheeks to keep from laughing.

The second of the two large firecrackers was never exploded.

( some quizzes. )

i feel sick.

My front yard is always full of birds. One of my favorites is a loner, a little sparrow who hangs out on my half of the block without seeming to have any pals. He's really cute because he hops when he's not flying. Other larger birds walk, this particular type is small and hops as if on pogo sticks. I always used to say hello to this little bird when I saw him outside.

I just killed him.

I was backing out of the driveway and he must have just landed behind my tire when I started to move. Now he's lying flat a foot or so behind the tire, wet from the sprinklers and his body fluids. I found him when I got home. The flies were already on him. He is squashed perfectly on his side and I can still see his face and his feet.

I don't know what to do with his tiny body yet... and it seems like it would be very difficult to get it all up (without, um, close contact and a spatula, which I cannot handle), so I covered it with wood chips from the side of the driveway. I think my neighbor will help with further cleanup. We don't have a shovel.

I know it was a freak accident, not really my fault (I wasn't driving irresponsibly, and I ALWAYS look out for animals, especially in neighborhoods)... but I still feel really bad. Such a sad end for a delightful little animal. I'd feel bad enough killing a bird, but killing my favorite bird and the smallest of the ones who visited my yard just makes it so much worse.