Dear Lord, please forgive my parents for ever choosing to live at Anderson Camp even though it is sure to cause me long lasting emotional and social damage.
So there we were. In the process of moving into the boondocks in a desperate attempt to escape meth hell.
I know I used the word “journey” at the end of the last chapter, but journey is the wrong word for what we were embarking on. A term like journey carries with it a certain sense of optimism, as in, “Focus on the journey, not the destination”. For what awaited me in that upcoming year, had I focused on the journey, I probably would have proven the myth of spontaneous combustion.
“What happened to that boy?” some agent from X-files might have asked.
“Very strange indeed,” his partner would have answered, removing his sunglasses. “He was living in this travel trailer for over a year.”
“Wow, he lasted that long? I’ve seen others spontaneously combust under much less strenuous conditions.” Continue reading