Call it a rut. I work with a British woman. Every year right before the 4th of July weekend, I walk over to her and say: "Hey Jacqui, going to a barbecue this year or are you still pissed?" I'm not sure why I do it every year. It could be:
a) I still think it's hilarious.
b) I can't come up with anything better.
c) It's become a tradition.
d) I'm so senile that I think I just thought it up and then, somewhere around July 5th every year, I realize I said the same stale joke last year. OR:
e) I'm so giddy that I'm about to start a three day weekend, I don't care if I sound like a moron.
The point is: I've always loved 4th of July.
So I sit here watching my beer-soaked neighbors doing their illegal and/or homemade fireworks and wonder whether this year, their drunken aim will bore a hole in their roof or dislodge a limb... Everyone on the block has moved their cars to make room for the inevitable police cruiser, ambulance, and fire trucks.
But sometime in the midst of all the holiday hoopla, I try to think about what it's really all about: Freedom...Independence.
It did scare me when I heard on the radio that something like 42% of those polled in this Country didn't know what country the US had become independent from back in 1776. (I yelled at the radio: What language do you speak you 42% imbeciles?!)
So this week we're going to discuss independence--But a different kind of independence.
When and how in the world we will ever be free of this stinking infertility ball and chain that we've been schlepping along with us for what seems like an eternity.
Listen, I gotta go. I see the neighbor back on the driveway. I think he's looking for his left ear.
And if you haven't seen my latest post on Fertility Authority which explains in detail why I would, should and could never become an infertility nurse--please click over: http://fertilityauthority.com/blogger/1013368
I'll talk with ya again tomorrow.