Today, Pilot Boy sent me a text asking if I wanted to move to the Dirt Hole.
I said, "Over my dead body."
"How about for $10,000?"
"No. You can't pay me enough to go back."
Granted, then I began thinking....I've been there before. I know where things are, I know where to go to get things and I know how things work.
Then I remembered: It's the Dirt Hole. It's literally a dirt hole. I hate dirt. I'm not a big fan of holes.
So, I came back to my first thought: No way, Jose.
I still have this unsettling feeling, though, that at some point...I'll have to go back there and then I'll be trapped there. Again. Granted, it wasn't like it was THAT horrible, but the reasons it wasn't THAT horrible last time around won't be there next time.
Someone once said, while in the Dirt Hole, if you're happy to leave, you'll be back.
I cheered loudly the day we left.
I mockingly cheered when I came back to Texas.
I almost cried when I left Alaska.
I sighed sadly when I pulled out the shorts and it was February.
I'm not meant for hot locations. I seriously am meant to live where it's cold and dark. I thrive there.
The Dirt Hole is hot. The sun is bright. And storms go around it. (Storms don't even want to go to the Dirt Hole.)
