My “neighborhood”

Have I mentioned I love where I live?

I know there are some drawbacks to living in a rural community… but the longer we live here, the more I fall in love with it. My neighborhood – if you can even call it that – is wonderful. (Actually, my neighborhood is my entire town, which you can see most of in the picture above. Yep. That’s pretty much the whoooole town.)

Honestly, the thing I love most about it is not having any neighbors. I lived in dorms and apartments all through college, and definitely got enough of that there. Since then, I’ve gradually moved further and further away from people, in general. I hate people. Don’t get me wrong, I love people. But… I hate people.

Living here has kept me sane. It keeps me away from people unless I want to see people. Which is pretty perfect for me. I don’t have to put up with unruly neighbors or worry about city ordinances dictating to me what I can and can’t do with my home.

At this point, I’m not entirely sure you could pay me enough to move back to “the city.” I just love the space out here. It’s like I can breathe.

And I mean, really. Who doesn’t love tons of space to plant tons of pretty flowers? We even bought a Weeping Willow and planted it in the front-ish yard. (Well, ok. WE bought the tree. THE BOY planted it. I really had nothing to do with it other than saying, “Oh, you planted the tree!”)

So, here’s what you learned about me in the past few paragraphs: I hate civilization, love plants, but am lazy.

Grade 2, “Good things about my neighborhood.” Writing is elementary series prompted by Katherine. Topics from Write Source. Photos are MINE, BITCHES.

What’s under my bed?

There’s a monster under my bed.

He’s got lanky legs, a disgustingly long tongue and hairy ears. In fact, he’s hairy everywhere.

The space under there is almost too small, but it doesn’t keep him out. He’s there, every night.

I can hear him sometimes, moving around beneath my bed. He’ll forget what he’s doing sometimes and fall asleep, and I can hear him drift off to Dreamland. He’ll whimper a few times, maybe let out a few mini growls, and I imagine he’s dreaming of chasing some small adorable fluffy creature.

Yes, there’s a monster under my bed.

His name is Colt.

Writing is elementary series prompted by Katherine. Topics from Write Source. Photo is MINE, BITCHES.