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Why does
everyone else seem to have more trouble letting go of this house than me?
o
Where were you
when I needed help maintaining it, fixing it? Where were most of you when I
constantly put out warnings of how lonely I was out here? You don’t get to
guilt me. I’ve lived and breathed this house for 12 years. It’s time someone
else was more important that something.
o
You all reaped
the benefits of this home, took advantage of my fortune, without any of the
struggle or responsibility. You don’t get to make me mourn a fight I’ve lost a while
ago.
o
For 12 years
the Kinney Estate has been a monument, a museum off my ever-evolving art-life journey,
but it’s time for me to make living that journey more important than enshrining
it. Pieces of it will always live on in me, in the relics I keep, in digital perpetuity;
in my son. Without it, however, I fling open the doors of my prison cell, stop
hording my stores, and let people in.
o
You did not
love this house. You did not accept its flaws and imperfections, fix what ailed
it, coddled it, and built it up into something greater than its meager walls
could hold. No, you only loved the idea of it. I’m tired of people only loving
what they think of me, not all of me.
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