I'm on my way home to Brooklyn and the life I've created. I rarely look at it like that though. I should think of my life more like that. A creation.
I chose to live in Brooklyn, I did. I tried Manhattan it wasn't for me. The same with the Bronx. I dabbled with Queens but, they didn't want me. I suppose there was no place for my brown face in Kew Gardens back then (I experienced blatant verbal racism when I lived there-more than once).
Brooklyn opened her arms to me and I accepted. I chose to live alone the second time around in Brooklyn. I am the eldest of six children, I've rarely been alone. I sacrificed more space via a roommate to go at it alone in a studio. It felt so nice to come home and find things where you left them. To open the refrigerator and to have the food that you left there-still there. My mothers house was always filled with children, some not even related to me. My mother is a lover of children and her motto was, "What's one more?". Our house teemed with children running, playing, eating, laughing and or crying. The sounds were endless. I learned to sleep through any amount of noise. It was just something you had to do-if you wanted to sleep.
I've never regretted it but sometimes...sometimes I could use a goodnight hug or some night cap love, sometimes.
I didn't chose my cat. She was a gift, given to me after a break-up to ease the pain of loneliness. Keeping her was my choice.
For what it's worth I even chose my job-I chose all of it. If I'm unhappy with it then am I to blame?