Crime Scene

I always thought our house looked like a bit of a crime scene.  Especially when I compared it to my friends’ houses.  My parents liked to refer to themselves as ‘creatives’ and I wondered if that was an excuse for not wanting to clean the house.  But at the same time, I loved it.  I never had to look very far for the art materials I wanted to use.  Or materials I never knew I wanted to use.  When I was younger, I thought the state of our house was completely normal.  Until I started spending more time outside of the home. 

Either way, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up and I knew when I had my own home, I would limit my ‘creative’ mess to one room.  I constantly drew out plans for what I wanted my house to look like and where I wanted my supplies to live so I knew exactly where to find them.  Everything in my life seemed to be going according to plan until my father found my plans for my dream house.  Shocked, I let him take my plans and destroy them.  Up until that point, I had never thought anything about my parents’ life was out of the ordinary.  But my father’s anger and suspicion of my future plans made me suspicious of him. Looking back, I wish I had never started investigating.