From Dry Sands to Orange Groves

This has been a while coming.

Most of the life I've lived has been in a small, dry, surprisingly crime ridden town near an equally run down, past-it's-prime hamlet called Victorville. The town itself, I'd rather not name; too many memories, not all of them good ones lurk down that rabbit hole. Why we came there to begin with, I can't rightly say. Why we left, that is far easier.

My grandmother, whom I was very close to, died a few years ago. The shock still grips me like a rabid dog every now and again---mostly when I try in vain to sleep. After that we stayed in the house which she lived her last years in, mostly because he had no other option. So you can imagine what it might have felt like to forever be reminded of the person you lost.

Everyday. On and on. Never changing. Never ending.

Those years were some of the hardest I've ever had to live. There's nothing I can do about any of that. Nothing that could change how those years dragged on and on. How they left yet another pit in my heart. C'est la vie, right? That's what all the people say. I won't argue with it.

I will say that being here, being away from that horrid place, has made me a much calmer, happier person. And, of course, writing this blog helps a good deal as well---those years were one of the reasons that made me want to start this in the first place. I'm starting to feel actually good about my life and what I'm going to do with it. I'm writing more and enjoying what I write far more than I had been. And, even though all my childhood memories are locked within that strange out, I know I'm making new ones right here. And nothing feels better than that, right?

Thank you for reading.

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