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I pull up in my car to my home. Home, yeah, from 12 to 40 I moved about once a year. My grass is cut, the siding was washed earlier this year, there are numerous projects I’d like to get done. Every day I try to take a moment and see what I’ve accomplished. This is the only place my daughter were rs have known, it is the place I want them to be able to retreat from when the world becomes too much.

Sometimes I sit in the dark, in the early morning in my back yard and imagine that I’m just renting this place or house watching, I’ll go back to my studio apartment in Chicago when I wake up. But I never wake up. Thus is mine to do with what I want. I just have no idea what I want. Then a possum waddles into view, goes after some food and leaves.

On the weekends, the sun rises slowly and there are 4 in the bed. The girls and I get up and eat waffles, drink our milk and watch cartoons. It’s nothing super special, not a Notman Rockwell portrait, but it is our time. They live it, I get work done between wasing dishes and clothes.

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