Hum diddle dee dum...

Hello dear little blog!

I have neglected you terribly, but I shall neglect you no longer!

So, I was just looking through some of my old files, and I found a few vignettes I wrote for an English class during my freshman year of high school. Here is one:

From behind drab brown and boring tan peeks my tiny blue house on Camellia Place. Inside, we dance to the beat of the swaying palm trees, waiting. Always waiting. Waiting for the fire marshal, the septic, grading, and building permits, the county, the architect, and the engineer.
“Why is it taking us so long to build our house when it only took our friends a year?” my mother laments. Dad reminds her that every house is different, that we are unlucky. Under her breath, mother threatens to sue.
I didn’t intend to live a year and a half of my life surrounded by these walls, waking to a cloudy Carlsbad sky, as one would wake to a grumpy mother on one’s birthday. Our dream house was supposed to be finished. I often fantasize about spending my time in the room that I co-designed for myself, with the spacious walk-in closet, just like in the magazines. Lightning will thunder outside as I sit comfortably in my storybook window seat, leaning my head against the cold, glass window, engrossed in a novel.
But not yet. The day to start building is always a week away, always out of my grasp, as was the fate of Tantalus. I must spend my time in these moist, dimly lit rooms, praying to God for the project to be finished. Maybe this trial is meant to make us appreciate our new home all the more. Or maybe it’s punishment for actually thinking that we would get it done last year. Whatever the reason is, I don’t like it.

Now, I'm not reproducing this here because it has merit or anything like that. It's just that I'm finally in the new house, and just a few minutes ago, I was sitting in the window seat, reading a novel, and I had to express this rediscovered joy of having a dream fulfilled.