The good old days

I just hit my knee on this desk, coming out of a spin around to get up and let the dog back inside. Just as I have done multiple times this week, just as I have done multiple times over these many many years of living in this house. I've been feeling so nostalgic lately. It's hard not to during the Holidays. I was thinking the other day, that I might physically die if my parents ever sold this house. My house. I have never lived in any other. What would I do if I were to see someone elses clothes and clutter strewn on the floor of my bedroom, with pictures of people I have never met, atop shelves that I have never seen. My parents are always threatening to sell this house and move to the beach. They always say they're just joking, followed up by the fact that there isn't enough money on the ZC estate to cover that anyway.

Why does nostalgia bring pain? Why does it hurt to remember being so little that you had to be carried around on someone's shoulder? I think back to eating mac and cheese at a tiny kid sized table in the tv room with my brother. I remember watching my dad build a fire in the woodstove. I remember the time that our dog, Sailor, got stuck in the Christmas tree. We found her underneath it, in a puddle of her own pee. That was hilarious. But still these breif moments of enjoyment I get out of remembering "the good ol days" is followed up by sadness. Perhaps over the fact that I can never return to those days. That I am a hop skip and a jump away from being far away from home for good. Well I don't really know, which is why I ask. Any takers?