The cities has got me down. All the cement, all the cars, all the ever-loving PEOPLE. Fall is my favorite time of year, mostly because of the beautiful colors and cool weather and four-wheeling to the shack and taking the dog for quiet walks where she can run free and shit wherever she pleases. Fall isn’t the same in the asphalt jungle. The weather is cooling off, sure, but I can hardly even bring myself to go outside for a stroll along that paved trail. Maybe because I have to stop every three blocks to wait for a stoplight to change. I don’t deal well with stoplights. Maybe because there aren’t any colors here because there aren’t any trees because why have trees when you can use the space to build an apartment complex to house the 14 million Somali children in the area. MAYBE because there is so much traffic and I know I should be counting my blessings that I haven’t gotten hit by a car yet and putting myself out there “just because” is really asking for it. Maybe because I have to go through five doors just to get outside and who puts forth that type of effort for exercise anyway?

Also, paved trails? Part of he fun of going for walks at home is wondering at which point I will trip over a tree root and eat dirt, and also how badly I will be hurt. It’s a small price to pay to avoid death-by-pollution. Let’s put on our hiking boots and take on the paved trails. Fuck yeah, I’m a cidiot now.

There’s a northland void within me that needs to be filled. Next year I’m moving to Duluth. I can’t take this shit anymore. This fall is the final straw. There’s just no FALL in the fall here.

I miss home. I miss the shack and my dog and my parents and my sister and trees and four-wheeling and bon fires and walks in the woods. I miss trips to the club and rides around the horn and stalking Beeb and Auders and English-speaking American citizens (yeah, I went there). I miss peace and quiet and knowing everyone and scampering outside to see that one ambulance every six months fly by the house and my mom’s cooking and Gooty waking me up at 6am looking for Snausage,

This sucks. I’m 23. I’m not supposed to be homesick. Life is just too damn short to wonder if I could be happier.