I live in the swamps, y'all. It's a far cry from where I grew up.
I lived out my childhood in a rural area just north of Atlanta, GA. I grew up near the lights and hustle and bustle of a major city. I am accustomed to traffic, to thinking of a parking space as precious real estate, to the ever present hum of life in a city.
When I first moved to the ArkLaTex, I lived in apartment complexes on busy thoroughfares. I moved up in the world and rented a fabulous loft apartment in the heart of Shreveport. The lights of the city comforted me at night as they streamed through the blinds and lent their glow to my home.
Then, along came Sunshine. We moved to the lake north of town. It was semi-dark at night. Then we moved to a different lake, far from town. It is very dark at night. There is no hustle and bustle. No steady hum. No traffic. No ambient light to lend its glow to my home.
Mostly, I'm OK with that. Yes, I miss the comfort of the city lights streaming through my windows, but the peace of mind I feel with Sunshine more than makes up for it.
As much as I love the lights of the city, there is one part of city life I hate.
It's that drive TO the city. That stretch of interstate just outside city limits. That lonely stretch of highway where there is nothing but the occasional truck stop and street lights stretching for miles in front of you.
I hate that fucking stretch of highway. That stretch of highway is the loneliest time of day for me, even when I am not alone in the car.
Those fucking street lights illuminating miles of empty interstate crush my spirit with their unbearable weight. I hate those fucking lights.
Those stretches of highway, with their damned lights, are like my own personal corner of hell.
I love the ever-present glow of city lights.
I hate those long, lonely miles of street lights that lead into the city.
Those street lights are unbearable.
I wish I could escape the unbearable weight of the lightness of night.