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  • I want to live in the country, immersed in nature. I want to live on a lot of land, a forest in my backyard. I want to grow my own food, and I want to make fires from logs I cut myself with an ax whose grip is worn down by my own hands. My hands should be calloused, and I don’t want to pay them any attention.

    I want to have a wraparound porch on a two story house. The floorboards should creak ever-so slightly as I walk up the stairs. I want to wake up in the morning and see my wife writing on the porch. I want to dry my clothes on a line in the breeze.

    I want to smell pie from the kitchen. I want to watch the evening mist roll over the distant hills. I want to let my dog out the front door and he can run around to his heart’s content until his little dog body gives out and he can’t help but pass out on the walkway leading up to the house.

    I want to build chairs. I want to build watches. I want to build computers. I want a wardrobe full of warm, comfy clothes. I want to spend a day hacking at an old tree stump. I want sweat to run down my face and soak my clothes. I don’t want to give a fuck.

    I want to boil water in a kettle over the fire. I want to lie on my back and feel the grass tickle my neck. I want to stare into the sky and see an entire universe above me.

    I want to love to write again.

    I want to live away from the city. I want to be rid of student loans. I want to be happy. I want to be home.
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