Sometimes a memory pops into my head and I remember how much I long to be back on the farm. I remember leaving the farm reluctantly; I lived in a place I felt free (alas) in. I loved living there, and I keep missing it.
Why did I leave a place I wanted to stay at? Mimi was moving to a place not so secluded, wanting what was “best” for me, and I honestly think she just wanted to live with her new husband and their new house.
Off to the city I drove, landing and residing where I do now. Air polluted with gasoline and other things crowds my nose, leaving nature rarely grown. I have to search for it. I quickly went from being able to walk around the loop on that county road that housed my country home to instead staying inside, afraid of all the city has to offer: 2 cops shot at robbery scene, a nineteen year old girl goes missing, and random sounds at night that sound like gunshots. The doors have to be locked during the day, and I may wake up to the sound of an egg hitting my window or a car alarm from whomever and from wherever. And I hear the traffic from the roads.
And I don’t live in the ghetto1; I actually live in a somewhat nice neighborhood where they have one of those cliché neighborhood crime watch programs that I typically see in the movies or maybe on TV that meets monthly with a cop or two. And it supposedly works.
And I miss the farm. I’m so homesick, and it keeps building up.
This is just one result of the “I-only-want-what’s-best-for-you” excuse. I really hope that I only say that line to my future child(ren) if I truly believe it is reasonable and not an excuse. I hate that excuse.
- I’ve lived there once. Unless you count that other time… ↩