I enjoy Independence Day mainly because it's the only holiday that can be referred to only as a number. We aren't doing anything special, I'm going to the fire department for a hot dog (my dad's a fireman, I'm not just showing up to crash their party), and then I'll probably go back to bed. We have to work later tonight and I'll need a little more sleep, but who can resist a hot dog cooked outside? Certainly not me.
I put in my 2 week notice at my current job this morning. I dated it July 2, which is a little bit of a lie, but no member of management has been there since then anyway so whatever. I'm scheduled for my TB test on Tuesday. Not that I think I have TB but I'm the sort of hypochondriac that has thought processes like this:
"There was that guy in Alabama recently who didn't feel sick or anything and by some fluke, like a car wreck or something, he had a chest x-ray and they found a lump of TB in his lung the size of a baseball...and here I've been coughing for a *year*!! I'm going to die!!! And lose this job!!!"
And then I have some cake and feel better, with no guilt regarding my neurosis (or sugar intake) at all.
That's a true story by the way, the baseball TB guy. And that's exactly the way I heard it too...does TB come in lumps??
Didn't get the fireworks picture last night. A recent break in my insomnia has occurred at a rather inopportune time and I slept til time to go to work. Maybe tomorrow...anyway they'll be here when I get them. For now, you can pretend the one that is on here is mine, even though it most certainly isn't.
Beverly Sills has died. There aren't many great ones left...