Author's Note
No fetishes this time, but I'd still like to see your thoughts on it.
A New Home
Day 1, Sunday, January 5th, 2016.
It’s been quite a while since I put pen to the paper and wrote in this journal, and even if that time only amounted to a week, it still felt insurmountably miserable to be unable to document my feelings. It’s not that I haven’t done so out of laziness or neglection of a tradition that I’ve started over a decade ago and kept alive and healthy ever since, I could never do so under my own volition. That would be devastating.
The true reason I haven’t been able to document my feelings and emotions for the past week was due to a flurry of events flooding me faster than anything I’ve ever witnessed before in my life. It had happened so quick, so sudden, and without warning that for the better part of the week, I was burdened with a mountainous pile of confusion and mild anger. But, even for a miniscule window, I am able to gather my bearings and get back to what I love doing.
My mom, out of the blue, had declared that I was to change my living arrangement to live over in ‘Canterlot City’ in accordance to family tradition that has been repeated for generations, or so I’m told. I tried to deny this change or inquire my mom on why such a drastic modification was being made, but on both occasions, she shut me down either with a threat of consumption or vague assurances that she has my best interest at heart. How she has my best interest at heart when she decided to spring this surprise on me a week before the change was set to happen, even while knowing I’m autistic, and therefore, loathe surprises, is beyond me.
Alas, I have learned to live and cope with such occurrences, as such is the way of life, isn’t it? Time and time again we are thrust into roles and positions with little regard and often we are forced to clean up the pieces and forge ahead. Even when thrown out of our comfort zone, the best thing we could do is shove our feelings down the well and move on. Or, at least, that’s what I’ve learned to do.
Well, that’s it for me at this moment, my stop has arrived… and I’m still scared… whatever.
I thought I overcame the feelings of disdain towards this sudden change, but as the house came into view, the same disdain I felt days prior to this insipid course of action. In truth, the house was nothing if not beautiful, as befitting the sort of character my mother is, it was kept well and neat, with yards that could give an urban community a heart attack, all surrounded by a nicely painted and proportioned fence.
Hopping off the bus, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease as I approached the fence. Fishing the key out my pocket, I unlocked the wooden barrier and made my way to the porch. On it was the classic set-up for a cook-out, which was nice to know just in case my mom decided to hold one of her get togethers over here. An inevitability more than a possibility, that was assured.
Inside the house lay a computer desk nestled neatly near the staircase leading to the upper level. A couch, two sofas, and a coffee table accompanied two shelfs, one with a stack of newspapers and the other with a stack of letters, all completing the homey sort of look the house parted. The smell of lavender permeated the halls as I inspected the house further.
The corridor leading to the dining hall possessed a door leading to what I predicted to be the basement; an area best left to exploration at a later date. The dining room itself housed two large cabinets, each filled with layers upon layers of expensive china, a sign with the words ‘Don’t Touch’ embroiled onto them. A warning, surely. A warning to anyone with insufficient intelligence to try and tamper with a family heirloom. A family heirloom I had no interest in touching.
Following the dining room was the kitchen, which was pretty small comparatively to the other places I’ve seen. A refrigerator which was still running, most likely for a day or two before I arrived. The same could be said for the oven, the dishwasher, and all the other little kitchen amenities.
As predicted, the food in the kitchen was quite short only 4 packs of hot pockets to keep me full until I could go shopping. Something that would most likely happen tomorrow after school that is if I have the money to do so. Luckily, I wasn’t left without any solution to my problem, a note with my mother’s handwriting stuck to the fridge’s door with the use of a magnet. Taking it off, I read it.
“Dear Judo,
If you’re reading this, then you must’ve noticed that I only left a few hot pockets for you to eat. But I haven’t left you completely powerless as I’ve managed to slip in $300 into your bag before you left, just enough to get you something to eat and get a job before you go starving.
Love, care, and much more, Mom.”
If she was here, she could hear my grumbling as I tried to comprehend the stupidity in which would possess her to do something so secretive instead of giving it to me by hand. If she had, then it wouldn’t run the risk of the money being horribly maimed to the point of it being practically useless in a professional establishment.
However, as if by some miracle, the $300 was left unscathed save for a few bends, nothing too seriously damaging. With that, I sighed and moved on to the other aspects of the house: namely, the upper level.
The upper level was quite large, two bathrooms as soon as you walk up and I think at least 3 guest bedrooms, plus the bedroom I would be staying in. How did I know I was staying in this bathroom? On the door, a sign reading ‘Judo’s Room’ was clearer than the sun in the sky.
Entering the bedroom, I was ecstatic that it wasn’t over the top with decorations or anything, just a plain bed with a nightstand, a closet, and a bathroom inside. And with the relatively few belongings I brought along with me, unpacking was relatively easy, leaving me the rest of the day to relax and contemplate what was to come.
As I slipped into slumber, ready for the following day, all I could do was begin to wonder what the future entails for me. If all goes well, maybe I could grow to like it here.
