Starry Nights and Stolen Kisses

Anyone who ever says that they think the desert is beautiful has either a) never spent more than a couple of hours driving through it on their way to somewhere else or b) has serious psychological issues and needs extensive therapy or c) is on drugs-very powerful drugs. There are two kinds of people who live in the desert; those who willfully choose to believe it's beautiful so they can survive living there for their entire lives and those of us who can see it for what it is and plan to get out before it sucks the life out of you. It's like being in the Matrix, some choose the red pill, while others choose the bliss of the blue pill. Needless to say, I am a believer in the Red pill. My eyes are wide open and I refuse to succumb to the lie that is the tranquil domesticity of wide open spaces and tumbleweed snowmen. Do I sound dramatic to you? My mother gets fed up with me when I begin my well rehearsed diatribe about the failures of the desert and those who willfully choose it as a dwelling place on their slow rise to the middle.  "Alexis, you act as though you were tied up and tortured as a child. I seem to recall that you had an idyllic childhood, one that I never had and would have killed for." Shame pours over me. How she is able to bring me to my knees with humility with one little sentence, I will never know. Or maybe I will know if I ever become a mother. I think it's a superpower you develop while giving birth.  "Congratulations, it's a baby girl! Now here are your superpowers of mind reading and guilt trips. Remember, with great power comes great responsibility. Use them well!"  I am brought back to my present circumstances as I hear my mother yelling at one grandchild or another. My siblings procreated like rabbits, endowing me with the title of "The Cool Aunt" to six heathens, also known as my nephews. I love my nephews. Not only are they awesome kids, but they give me the best opportunities for getting back at my three brothers for all of the torment they bestowed upon me as their little sister while growing up. I did not go on one single date that they didn't sabotage or frighten the poor unsuspecting dope away who I actually thought was going to be able to take me out to a movie. Ah, the naivete of youth. So how is revenge best served, you ask? It is best served in the form of obnoxious, deafening, difficult to put together toys that would drive even the most zen monk bonkers. The only thing better than the looks of delight on the faces of my nephews on Christmas morning, are the looks of disdain and misery on the faces of my schmuck brothers. Ha! Eat that suckers! " Alexis, I don't know why you let your pride get in the way. If you need to come home, then come home. You can get back on your feet here. You know, in your home. With people who love you." "Mom, there is nothing for me there, you know that." "Is your family nothing?"  "Can we not make this about you right now? I have worked really hard on my career and there just aren't any opportunities for me to work at my level and make a living in the desert." "You can bluster all you want, but I know you better than you know yourself, my girl. You're a chicken." "Okay, now that I am poultry, we are digressing into the realm of ridiculousness that we can't come back from so it's probably for the best that I hang up now." "Alexis...come home." After getting her off the phone with a promise to think about it, I sit on the floor in my nearly empty apartment, back against the wall and rest my head on my knees in weary defeat. After selling off most of my furniture and artwork just to pay my rent last month and no viable leads on a new job, it becomes very clear as the setting sun casts an orange-pink glow on my blank walls, that I have to move back to the desert. Apparently, Hell has frozen over.