i like to think that if i knocked on the door of where i lived from birth to age 11, the people that live there now would just let me in without question. just bc it used to be my house.
something so comforting about waking up in the room you grew up in as a kid
itβs such a familiar yet distant view, like waking up to a past life - the posters, the books, the shelves lined with stuffed animals and random trinkets
i was home for thanksgiving after moving away 10 years ago, and being home made me feel creepy and like a child again. so i wrote some creative nonfiction about the town i grew up in, personifying the city itself and writing stories about the town villainizing and holding hostage its residents. there's a huge government operation there as well so it lent itself to storytelling quite well
laying down very flat in bed after working my icky closing shift at my icky retail job feels so yummy. i can feel my individual spinal cords clicking back into place
