Every year that I’ve lived in Portland I’ve had to work the morning after The Fourth, at a crummy job that required me to wake up anywhere from 4-5 AM. Usually that meant skipping out early, laying in bed and cursing the world while illegal fireworks went off over my apartment building and in the alley below my bedroom window.
But I quit my day job back in October.
For the first time since I moved to Portland, I got to enjoy The Fourth to its fullest. I joined friends on a hike up Mt. Tabor where we ooh-ed at the sparklers, and screamed when the big mamas went off.
It was great fun, the weather was perfect, and I didn’t go to sleep until almost 2 AM.
Happy Independence Day, indeed.