So there were no desi food stalls to stuff my face at, no green flags, no national songs. Just my crystal clear memory of torn little paper flags kissing the ground, and buildings wasting electricity in the name of celebration. But looking so criminally beautiful in the process.
Instead, over the weekend, there was my family (insert smiley here) and George Washington's darkly sparse mansion: gaudy paint, thousands of acres of beautiful slave-grown plantations, unmarked graves of the slaves who had toiled at them, and eighteenth century toilet drawers. Literally drawers actually, removable and all.
Also, the incredibly dull air and space museum...how does aviation history manage to be so supremely fascinating and supremely dull at the same time? I figure it's punishment for not getting in line for the simulator rides and relying on the engines for entertainment instead.
I suppose you could call that a rather productive weekend. And today, I'm home with the rare chance to sign in here and write aimlessly for a change, without feeling once that my sole prowess (?) should be contributing toward my economic progress at this time of the day.
It hasn't come to this yet, but for certain types of flighty individuals, the best way to end up hating the things they love to do most, is to acquire them as a profession.