You Can Always Come Home?

Because no the fuck you can’t

Greetings from the Valley of Fire sign outside Las Vegas, NV

Well, well, well. The Bitter B’s been home almost a week now and it feels…stifling. Yeah, that’s what I said. Stifling as in hot, cramped, unbearable. When you’re breaking down on the side of the road thousands of miles from home, it’s easy to yearn for the safety and comfort of a familiar place. The distance has also put a spin on things and somehow after being gone only a few months, I’d somehow convinced myself that my job, this heat, the traffic, the lack of any real romantic options, wasn’t that bad. LMFAO. I was only in town for 15 minutes before I called three different drivers twats, which is two more times that I said it the entire time I was gone. Yes, it is that bad; I must’ve had fucking amnesia.

It’s only 109° today and as the afternoon sun heats up the metal exterior of the trailer, I can only imagine this is similar to the Hawaiian tradition of roasting a whole pig in the ground, except its just a fat chick and three cats cooking in a tuna can. My mornings start around 6am when the Nazi next door opens his garage and stands in the front yard beating his dog for an hour. By the time he’s done, I’m already sweating along my hairline and have no choice but to retreat to the floor and pray an asteroid strikes my mother’s driveway.

I can honestly say that coming home now, when Vegas is just getting it’s ugliest, is probably saving me a lot of time and effort. Previous to my arrival, I had been throwing around ideas of staying here for awhile, getting back into the business, saving up some dough and getting back on the road in a couple months, six at most. And while that is still the best of the options, I cringe at the thought of staying here another hour let alone a half a year. The truth is, if I’m going to take a menial, bullshit job, why not do it somewhere I’ve never been so that I can at least have the luxury of growing to hate somewhere new instead of picking up where I left off in this loathsome shithole.

And that, my friends, is called personal growth. ✓

xoxo, The Bitter Bitch

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