I hate writing about Zendik Farm

But I told Zen I would, so I will. Also, it's probably good for me to do so. Get some of this stuff out into the open, talk about it, get some perspective. Over the years, I've brooded over it, dreamed about it, tortured myself with it. Time to let it go and writing about it is the way to do so. Exorcism.

I don't think it'll be in order of how it all happened, though. How boring would that be? I'll let it all fall out of my mouth however it wants to.

When I went to the Farm I was about 26 years old. When I left, 31. 32? They told me that I was the oldest recruit they'd ever had and that no one that old had ever stayed. Something about how set people get in their ways as they age. Older people don't want change. Turns out they were right about me not staying, but it wasn't just because of my age. It was because at heart -- No. I'm not completely clear why. But I'm going to figure it out.

One of the things I miss about the Farm is the family. The comradery. The closeness you get from living with people, close in, crowded in. Eating, sleeping, talking, working, writing, laughing, fighting. I loved a few of them, hated several. I still think about a few of them, just not always kindly.

We were working together for a common goal and it was us against most of the world. Trying to save the planet from the ecological abyss it's still hurtling towards. I believed in the fight, we all did. I still do. And back then, on bad or good days, they were family. I miss that.