Maine is beautiful and perfect and everything I love about everything. It smells amazing here. Like the ocean, like grass, like fireflies, like flowers, like dreams, like warm sand, like my childhood, like my mother.
I’ve decided that every time I have a major writing assignment I should just fly up to Maine and write here. Being home alone in this house, waking up to the sounds of the wind, staring out at the marsh every day while I work, smelling the cold autumn air, the changing leaves… it’s all perfect. Homer, Kent, Longfellow, King - I get it you guys! I get why you all did your best work here! It’s heaven on Earth!
Also I get how at least two of those dudes turned into major recluses. I am totally getting my hermit on here and I’m into it. I don’t need human interaction. Shit, I don’t even need a car! Although the car thing is mostly because my dad & stepmom stocked the fridge for me before they left. But whatever. Someday after I’ve made lots of money in LA I’m just going to move back to Maine and live in a log cabin overlooking the water and no one will see me for like thirty years and I’ll just pump out a new memoir every decade or so to stay relevant. That’s the plan!