I hadn’t lived in my Southern middle-of-nowhere hometown for over a decade when my parents’ home of 30+ years burned. Personal tragedy has a way of grabbing your collar and yanking you close, and a week ago, I left Orlando in the rear view mirror and moved back home.
That’s the living room. The fire may have given skylights to the house, but it gave me a serious amount of introspection. What’s a practically thirty-year-old single girl doing living with her parents and trying to reestablish herself in a town with a higher population of tanning beds than people? That’s a good question. I don’t really know.
And that’s what this blog is going to be about: figuring out my life, killing time in the country, bitching about how much rebuilding a house from the ground up sucks, making new friends and/or watching everything on Netflix Instant when I don’t make friends because I’m weird, and relating the story of my family and home. I hope you’ll join me for the ride. I can’t promise the glitz of the city life, but I can promise plenty of I-think-my-neighbor-is-making-meth-in-the-backyard jokes. Because I think he is. Thanks for reading!