The end of an era
It has been, all in all, not that bad of a week. I would have preferred to be home, yes, but the weather was beautiful and the days were relaxing; I was forced not to do work, having forgotten all of it at home.
But I will be happy to come back to Frederick. The Outer Banks are not the same as they once were, and it makes it a lot easier to sell this house. It used to be, when we came here ten or twelve years ago, that we could see almost the whole ocean from our windows. Now? The view is obscured by the countless tasteless houses that have been built. There used to be wild horses who would plod along the streets and run along the beach; now, they're all penned up on the northern end of the island.
It used to be that we could come here off-season and there wouldn't be a single light on anywhere around us; it used to be, I could sit out on the deck and watch the skies and be completely awed by the number of stars I could see. I used to be able to walk on the beach at 7:00 at night and not meet another soul. There weren't any big, commercial shops; hell, there wasn't even a movie theatre. My dad used to personally know the manager of the restaurant down the street, Groupers. The Outer Banks was a place secluded, beautiful, and still a little bit wild.
It has changed a lot since then. I will miss my memories from here, and I'm sad that we'll no longer own the house. But by the same token, every time I come here, I get more and more depressed. There is an enormous hotel about thirty minutes away from our house, with an unnecessarily large parking lot that is constantly lit by lots of impersonal, fluorescent lights. There are houses being built on every scrap of land, each gaudier than the next. Why does a beach house have to be bright pink? Why does it have to have a fucking lawn? Why does a beach house need a pool, or a jacuzzi, or a false stone facade?
Sometimes, I just want to scream at the bloody tourists to get off my fucking beach. There was a group of college students here today, on the beach not far away from us. They were loud, boisterous, and doing beer bongs at 11:00 AM. I don't know about you, but drinking cheap beer early in the morning in the sweltering sun is not my idea of a good time. And the thing is, that's what my haven is slowly becoming. It's becoming a richer, more high-end version of Myrtle Beach--with empty beer cans on the beach to prove it. It makes me nauseous to see it so commercialized like this. My father said something to the effect of "People are always going to want to live in a beautiful place."
If that's true, why can't they take care of it? Why do the houses need to be so enormous and lavish, with every possible amenity provided for? Hell, if you wanted that, why didn't you just leave your sorry, inebriated ass at home? I just don't understand how these people don't see how shitty they're making this place by degrading it the way they do. The beach is no place for manicured lawns, or every single bloody light in your house on at once. You're not supposed to come here to shop. It's not...Christ, this is not fucking Cancun. It makes me so sick to see people treating such a beautiful place that way; it makes me even sicker to realize there's not a damn thing I can do about it.
I will be somewhat glad to leave, ultimately. I have beautiful, incredible memories of this place. It's been my haven, my solace, my heart. I'll miss walking on the beach and never meeting anyone else. I'll miss sunrises at 5:00, fiery sunsets over the sound, and the wild thunderstorms at the end of the day. It's a beautiful, stunning place, and it holds such an important part of my heart, but it's simply not what it used to be anymore. As much as I enjoy the teenage guys I see on the beach, there is still a part of me that is revolted by them because they don't belong in my childhood fantasy. They don't belong in this place I've grown up with. But I guess I don't belong anymore, either. It's heartwrenching, but all good things must come to an end. The memories, naturally, will last as long as I do.
Of course, we'll still come back in the summertime with everyone, and we'll still have an amazing time--but that's because of the people and not the place. I have to admit, after the incredible weather we've had, I am really anxious for the summer to get here. It was literally in the 80s today, without a cloud in the sky and with a warm breeze coming from the south. Heavenly.
I went out to buy my bathing suit at BS (a bathing suit store that has been here since fucking forever and sells amazing stuff) and I'm enormously pleased with it. It fits superbly and makes me look like a Bond Girl. Cat pleased! I can't wait to wear it. I also made my way through two romance novels, and I will probably have read most of a third by the time we leave tomorrow. Good deeeeeal.
Speaking of tomorrow! The infamous Sunday. :P If there is no other place to hold our little shindig, my house is open, but everyone has to leave by midnight. This is non-negotiable with the parents. So obviously, it would be more convenient to hold it at someone else's house, but if worse comes to worst, the doors of the Hadshi household will be thrown open. And there will be fountains of chocolate! Scantily clad men! Live music!
I exaggerated a bit on the end, there. But it'll be fun! And everyone is invited. Yes, that means you. So again, my house is available as a last resort, but no sleeping over allowed. Work in the morning, and such.
Ah, so it goes. I shall have to finish my mountain of work on Monday, but it won't be the first time I've done so. Now, I believe I'm going to lie on the couch and read my latest bodice-ripping piece of literature. Then maybe I'll take a walk on the beach to digest a bit.
Speaking of which, I must remember this wine: Beaujolais-Village Chameroy, Louis Latour. It was absolutely delightful. *puts in memories* Thank you, livejournal.
Peace, love, and shaggy hair--
Cat
But I will be happy to come back to Frederick. The Outer Banks are not the same as they once were, and it makes it a lot easier to sell this house. It used to be, when we came here ten or twelve years ago, that we could see almost the whole ocean from our windows. Now? The view is obscured by the countless tasteless houses that have been built. There used to be wild horses who would plod along the streets and run along the beach; now, they're all penned up on the northern end of the island.
It used to be that we could come here off-season and there wouldn't be a single light on anywhere around us; it used to be, I could sit out on the deck and watch the skies and be completely awed by the number of stars I could see. I used to be able to walk on the beach at 7:00 at night and not meet another soul. There weren't any big, commercial shops; hell, there wasn't even a movie theatre. My dad used to personally know the manager of the restaurant down the street, Groupers. The Outer Banks was a place secluded, beautiful, and still a little bit wild.
It has changed a lot since then. I will miss my memories from here, and I'm sad that we'll no longer own the house. But by the same token, every time I come here, I get more and more depressed. There is an enormous hotel about thirty minutes away from our house, with an unnecessarily large parking lot that is constantly lit by lots of impersonal, fluorescent lights. There are houses being built on every scrap of land, each gaudier than the next. Why does a beach house have to be bright pink? Why does it have to have a fucking lawn? Why does a beach house need a pool, or a jacuzzi, or a false stone facade?
Sometimes, I just want to scream at the bloody tourists to get off my fucking beach. There was a group of college students here today, on the beach not far away from us. They were loud, boisterous, and doing beer bongs at 11:00 AM. I don't know about you, but drinking cheap beer early in the morning in the sweltering sun is not my idea of a good time. And the thing is, that's what my haven is slowly becoming. It's becoming a richer, more high-end version of Myrtle Beach--with empty beer cans on the beach to prove it. It makes me nauseous to see it so commercialized like this. My father said something to the effect of "People are always going to want to live in a beautiful place."
If that's true, why can't they take care of it? Why do the houses need to be so enormous and lavish, with every possible amenity provided for? Hell, if you wanted that, why didn't you just leave your sorry, inebriated ass at home? I just don't understand how these people don't see how shitty they're making this place by degrading it the way they do. The beach is no place for manicured lawns, or every single bloody light in your house on at once. You're not supposed to come here to shop. It's not...Christ, this is not fucking Cancun. It makes me so sick to see people treating such a beautiful place that way; it makes me even sicker to realize there's not a damn thing I can do about it.
I will be somewhat glad to leave, ultimately. I have beautiful, incredible memories of this place. It's been my haven, my solace, my heart. I'll miss walking on the beach and never meeting anyone else. I'll miss sunrises at 5:00, fiery sunsets over the sound, and the wild thunderstorms at the end of the day. It's a beautiful, stunning place, and it holds such an important part of my heart, but it's simply not what it used to be anymore. As much as I enjoy the teenage guys I see on the beach, there is still a part of me that is revolted by them because they don't belong in my childhood fantasy. They don't belong in this place I've grown up with. But I guess I don't belong anymore, either. It's heartwrenching, but all good things must come to an end. The memories, naturally, will last as long as I do.
Of course, we'll still come back in the summertime with everyone, and we'll still have an amazing time--but that's because of the people and not the place. I have to admit, after the incredible weather we've had, I am really anxious for the summer to get here. It was literally in the 80s today, without a cloud in the sky and with a warm breeze coming from the south. Heavenly.
I went out to buy my bathing suit at BS (a bathing suit store that has been here since fucking forever and sells amazing stuff) and I'm enormously pleased with it. It fits superbly and makes me look like a Bond Girl. Cat pleased! I can't wait to wear it. I also made my way through two romance novels, and I will probably have read most of a third by the time we leave tomorrow. Good deeeeeal.
Speaking of tomorrow! The infamous Sunday. :P If there is no other place to hold our little shindig, my house is open, but everyone has to leave by midnight. This is non-negotiable with the parents. So obviously, it would be more convenient to hold it at someone else's house, but if worse comes to worst, the doors of the Hadshi household will be thrown open. And there will be fountains of chocolate! Scantily clad men! Live music!
I exaggerated a bit on the end, there. But it'll be fun! And everyone is invited. Yes, that means you. So again, my house is available as a last resort, but no sleeping over allowed. Work in the morning, and such.
Ah, so it goes. I shall have to finish my mountain of work on Monday, but it won't be the first time I've done so. Now, I believe I'm going to lie on the couch and read my latest bodice-ripping piece of literature. Then maybe I'll take a walk on the beach to digest a bit.
Speaking of which, I must remember this wine: Beaujolais-Village Chameroy, Louis Latour. It was absolutely delightful. *puts in memories* Thank you, livejournal.
Peace, love, and shaggy hair--
Cat