Revelation.

So, when I was 2 years old my brother, Alan, was born. He was given a white, stuffed dog. I stole that dog from him in the early years and called him Puppy. He was my own; my comfort. At times Puppy wound up back in my brother's possession... but not for long. Puppy was mine.

As the years went by I cuddled up with Puppy every night. I guess you could say he's been the one constant man in my life. He eventually turned from his soft, fluffiness into a worn and sparsely soft-spotted dog. But there is one soft spot on the back of his head where I have, since I was a child, rubbed with my fingers. (You know when you feel something REALLY soft and you find it hard to stop touching? Well, that is what I mean. Rubbing is not the right word.) That one spot is perfectly located so that every night when I would cuddle up to my Puppy and fall asleep, it was right there.

The continuous feeling of the soft "fur" is what lulled me to sleep a lot. It puts a sort of calming trance over my mind and I just... relax. Normally, as a girl, I would end up bawling in my room at night for the faintest reasons. Once I drew myself out of the bawling hysteria for a few seconds, I always looked and cuddled up to Puppy. He always does the trick. I don't know what it is about Puppy or why I have such a reliance on a stuffed animal I stole from my month old brother, but even so... he's laying inches away from me on my bed while I type this.

Sometimes when I get caught up on life or my mind goes crazy, I tend to simply lay on my bed and stare at nothing with Puppy. I think about nothing, but more often than not, I end up coming to revelations. I find a space of calm in my messed up world. It was just a few minutes ago when I was doing just that. Surrounded by the elements of my current life that just don't feel right; my roommate is in her room with her boyfriend, there's a TV blaring downstairs, car lights distract me every five seconds and I can't see the stars anymore.

There I was, clutching to Puppy with all my sanity, when I realized that I don't belong here. I can't live in the city all of my life. I go home every other weekend simply for the two-hour drive surrounded by fields. As I was driving into the city earlier today at sunset, I actually started tearing up because the tall buildings and wires were ruining one of the most beautiful things in nature.

I am honestly always taken aback by nature's beauty and it is one of the things that keep me going. The beauty of the sky on an ordinary day after class... only I don't get time to look at the sky. By the time I'm fully able to see it I'm whisked off onto another highway exit and have to pay attention to not killing myself. My point is: I can't live in a world of metal, cement, asphalt and brick. No matter how many trees you park along side the road or around the new apartment complex that look "pleasant to the eye." If I can't see the stars through the yellow-grey city sky... then I don't want any of it. I don't care how convenient the Target down the road is... or the fact that there are 5 gas stations within a mile radius. Driving 15 minutes for groceries is fine with me. Driving 45 minutes to the nearest movie theatre is perfect for me. Why does everything have to be convenient? Where does that leave our sense of adventure? Do we abandon it? Or are we just going to let the Park & Rec build something to help us let loose?

Convenience is ridiculous to me all of a sudden. Let me take my chances out in the farmlands. I want my car to get stuck in the snow in my driveway again. I want to lay on the highway for hours in the early morning and not once have to move for a car. I want to be free of this crowded place.
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Have a lovely night. xx