I almost can’t believe I’m writing about Nazis.
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Life is very difficult for me right now. And I don’t use the word “very” often.
After returning from a short vacation to visit my mom and not seeing everyone in my family that I wanted to, I have been working. Literally. It’s all I have done. I returned from vacation on June 27. I have had five days off since then. I can feel it. Something inside is about to break.
When I left New York at 18 in 1988, I was off to college, but I was also searching for a place to fit in.
As I walk in the lush greenness, the familiarity of Middletown, it is not my home. It’s the place where I grew up, the town that shaped who I am today, but it’s not a place where I fit in.
Something happened to my family in the years that I’ve been gone. They’re more conservative. More entrenched in what they are doing. More easily shaped by the words spewed forth on the television or by their friends and neighbors.
They’ve got the car, the house, the kids, the white picket fence, the stability. But none of that was anything I ever pursued. And yet, there’s that non-spoken condemnation and the looks because I chose a different path.
During my vacation over the past couple of weeks, some random things popped into my head. I’ll have some more in-depth things soon.
My posts take 2-6 hours to write and another 30 minutes to post. I have dozens I want to do, but never seem to be able to find the time to get them done.
Also, my cat, Cinders, has been on my lap since I returned home from vacation. There is little else I can do except pet her. My legs are numb. Her claws are permanently embedded in my leg.