Except it’s not starfire, it’s my damn neighbors and their incessant fireworks.
Not that I’m finally fed up with the nonstop fireworks for the past two weeks.
Really, though. We’re still in June. Someone(I have yet to identify the culprit) has been setting off fireworks in the middle of the night. FOR TWO WEEKS.
I’ll admit I’m a bit of an insomniac, so sleep isn’t the biggest concern for me personally. But I also like to open my window and hear the birds. Except instead of birds, I am inundated with constant explosions, which are broken up by brief moments of silence to lull me into a false sense of security.
Last I checked, the Fourth of July has not occurred in the past two weeks, unless my calendar has been dramatically inaccurate this whole time.
And yes, I’ll grant that angrily ranting about it on a blog is the epitome of passive-aggressive internet behavior. But I would really just like to understand what possesses someone to think, “oh it’s midnight, right about time for some extremely loud explosions to terrify the pets and insomniacs of the neighborhood. Awesome!”
I’m starting to turn into an angry old woman, aren’t I? It’s like a flashback to my knee injury, where I was stuck on the Mediterranean coast unable to leave the house because it would require descending two flights of steps, and I became increasingly irritated with the obnoxious 11 and 12-year-olds zooming past my window on ATVs threatening to run down the inhabitants of the surrounding villas. I waved my cane at them at one point. I may or may not have also been wearing a massively loose housedress.
Aging will DEFINITELY not suit me, that’s for sure.