Frankenstein

I've been working on a Fourth of July post for the last three days. At this point, it's so messy -- torn apart, reconfigured, a collection of half-sentences and random thoughts -- it's hardly worth posting.

For what it's worth, it was supposed to be a wistful post in which I reminisced about July 4th in San Diego, which is a military town and therefore overflowing with patriotic pride.

Here's the beginning.

Our July 4th holiday was abnormally subdued this year, seeing as we arrived home from family camp just the day before. We managed to grill some Cajun turkey burgers, make some from-scratch guacamole and salsa and whip up some homemade vanilla ice cream. (It struck me funny at dinner that our favorite all-American meal was mostly Mexican food.)

But otherwise, we laid low, lest the whining coming from out overtired kids drown out the bottle rockets screaming toward the stars.

And truthfully, I'm OK with that. I love the Fourth of July. I am incredibly grateful to call America my home. But it's hard for any July 4th in the Midwest to equal July 4th in San Diego.

It deteriorates from there. And since I'm tired of working on it, I'm declaring it dead at 8:39 Monday morning.

Do you ever end up with a Frankenstein-style post, one in which you start with ideas and good intentions but end up with a thing that is both disjointed and grotesque? Or is it just me?