flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread
A broom to prop up your sheet, a pile of pillows, some good books — this is so much better than that kind with the scary bugs and scorpions and hook-handed killerapists. Seriously, if I owned a laptop I’d be typing this from my comfy fort right now; as it is, I shall return there momentarily to read and draw and cuddle my cat while he freaks out because fireworks.
“Turn off the booms or I’ll never breathe again!”
Oh yeah – happy holiday for which things go boom. Enjoy your sky-fire, Americans, and your gentle mockery of Americans, other folk. May you still have all your thumbs tomorrow. (That’s mostly aimed at Americans, unless you’re getting up to all kinds of thumb-threatening kookiness in Wales, Australia, India, and Canada, which is where I had readers last I checked. [One per country, if you’re curious, though Wales is small, so I’m counting that guy as, like, five.] )