Death, death, death, death....

So rather than suffer the day of preparations leading up to the parade, and the parade itself, I smuggled myself off to RenFest. Audrey apparently had to work to day after all, despite her insistence on Thursday that she was free all weekend, so I headed down alone. I don't actually mind going to RenFest alone; it's soothing, in its way, standing among so many people making merry, idly joining in some, watching some shows, watching the world go by. It's a beautiful conceit, the Renaissance Faire, and one I can enjoy. The familiar faces there dwindle each year, though. I only ran into three old associates among the employees, and only found a way to get back in touch with one of them - not the one I'd choose to get back in touch with, either.

I ended up going to the Sedalia fireworks after all. Not a professional show - it's done by the volunteer fire department - and not all that organized; the only thing it might have going for it is time: forty minutes of pyrotechnic glory. Not forty minutes straight, though, probably twenty minutes of actually having sparks in the air. But it's something.

Please dear gods get me out of this house tomorrow before the inlaw-from-hell sees me. She was an Atkins evangelist even before it was the popular thing to do, and has that horrible sort of voice where even the word "Hi!" stretches out over several seconds and as many octaves. It hurts my ears, it really does; never mind that she and her husband are true Rush Limbaugh conservatives. For my safety and theirs, get me away from here lest I cannot resist baiting them into mutually assured destruction.

I've been up since 8. My knees hurt. I need to crash. Goodnight, all.

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