It's not about America anyway, it's tradition. Traditionally, every Independence Day that I've taken any part in, in any way, has sucked. I've had some fun 4th of Julys, the years that I stayed home, oblivious to the festivities. I prefer all of the other holidays. It goes back as far as I can remember. In the beginning, I wasn't independent enough to be left unsupervised, and so a rebel was born. It's not the nation's fault, it's the series of other than fun events that have occurred on this particular day, and most of those events aren't even festively relevant, aside from firecracker wars. Sure, I don't like the sun, and get bored easily, and I confuse impatience with anxiety, and staring at shiny colors in the sky for an hour strait is wicked amazing, but that's not the half of it. It's the average everyday aggravations that for no clear reason insist themselves upon this day of all days, if I choose to celebrate. I'm usually able to avoid all obstacles, so I'm sure you understand why this is upsetting for me.
I'm bad at frisby. I don't feel left out, that's not my thing. Even more so, I don't want anyone feeling that I feel left out. If I want to do something, I will. If anything, I feel rude for choosing to do my own thing over socializing. I don't like barbecues, but I kindly will eat your leftovers.
I like s'mores. There were s'mores for Halloween, it's a fine time of year. I was a bird.
I started this life with a fresh slate, embracing possibilities with open arms, and grasping at each day with a child's hands, but the thorns of my county's birth dug deep. This insufferable day has tainted me with scars and it's poison, and alone is the root of my every mental and emotional infliction.
I need to surrender myself to it completely, and accept America into my heart, but if that were true, it would also mean that country music should hone some sort of value. The theory contradicts itself. I'll think on it a spell.
What can I do for my country? Stay out of it's special day, and let it play as it will. Maybe paint a picture of my pinkish hand shaking a red white and blue hand. I'm not going to buy it anything.
The pledge of allegiance gives me the heebie jeebies, but I was forced to chant it anyway, because I'm not religious. I did it standing up though, this is America, damn it. I'm not bothered by the "under god" part. I respect and appreciate historical preservation. If I ever write anything of significance, I can only hope that future people won't remove my beliefs from it. What creeps me out is pledging allegiance to a flag. Really? A flag? Why, that's so crazy, it just might work.
I have nothing to say about the confederate flag, because I didn't read the facts, and my vote doesn't count.
My father is an immigrant. So, I'm one hundred percent sure that I can be no more than fifty percent responsible for slavery. It's a good feeling. It'd be better if I held zero guilt, but what are you gonna do?
Thus far, it's been a lovely summer. I'm not going to let anything ruin it, especially freedom. Freedom's just another word for having laws in place that prevent you from being murdered. I'll sit tight until everything dies down. It's not my war, I just live here, in my home sweet home. I can't make it to the party, but I hope you have a rip-roaring day! Best wishes, USA. Let your freak flag fly. Or not. I don't care. Go get 'em, cowboy. This blog's for you.
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