Hello, my little ponies. I'm in a rather good mood tonight. I figured out a few more functions of my laptop, and I've come to grips with my fatherhood – which was confirmed to me recently by a reliable source. To be more precise, I've come to grips with both the aspects of fatherhood I will not experience – my daughter's doing well enough on her own, it seems – and those that I will experience – I will write my parents tonight and assure them, without naming any names, that the Velvet genes will be passed on at least ONE more generation. My father was awfully disappointed that none of us had foals, although I'm sure I'm not his first choice for passing on the bloodline.
Speaking of my family, I've been dwelling on them. Those first few nights back were wonderfully nostalgic – arguing with my sister, helping with the cooking, my mother preparing my old favorite alfalfa recipe – but things quickly began to chafe between us. The quarrels that had separated us in my adolescence, before my journeys, had been forgotten, but they were still there, waiting for us to rediscover them. It was in no way immediate, but it became apparent to me that staying with my family would become an issue. Ergo, I immediately began to seek out another reason to leave the home – higher education.
It seemed natural to want to go to college. I had developed a distaste for most menial jobs. My new passion didn't exactly pay well. I didn't have an exact job in mind at first, so I decided to enter as an undeclared major (often looked down on as a "blank flank" degree, but it made sense for me) and see what fit. I sent out several applications, although I knew I couldn't afford any huge establishments like Stallionford. Even for a less famous university, I expected I'd have to work my way through.
Well, I was accepted everywhere I applied – a full passport complements high grades nicely. I eventually chose the West Canterlot Academy of the Arts – one of the newer schools in Canterlot, it was starting to develop a positive reputation but wasn't really established nationally yet. Also, it was far from my family, which was sounding increasingly attractive. I did run into an interesting roadblock – real estate in Canterlot is very expensive, and I simply couldn't afford to live there – but there was a simple solution. I did as many of Canterlot's working-class ponies do: I bought a flat in Baltimare near their train station, which is only a single stop down the tracks from Canterlot.
So it came to pass that late that summer, I left home for good (I returned a few times on holiday, of course, but I never returned to live at my parents' house again). I knew what to expect with long goodbyes from my family, this time – a stiff farewell from my brother, a mercurial shoulder-punch from my sister, a warm reminder that I'd always be welcome in her house from my mother, my father bawling his eyes out. I was struck by how little they had changed over the past three years – and how much I had changed while I was away. Or was I wrong? Did they see me for anything near what I was? Did they even see that I was fundamentally a different pony than the one they said goodbye to last time, or were they thinking the same thing about me? Maybe we're all changing, all the time, and we're all just too self-absorbed to notice it in each other except when the change becomes physical. I didn't look any different, except that I had a shiny new watch and I had enough luggage to require a wagon this time.
Well, look at me babble. Before I leave this story off again for the night, I thought I should share my brief anecdote. The night before I would arrive in Baltimare, I caught a rabbit. I should note that I had caught several small animals and eaten them during the trip – I was tired of maintaining the appearance of a vegetarian in front of my family, and besides, free food. This time, though, I caught the rabbit in a trap that wouldn't harm it, and I put it in a cage to keep. I had noticed that my flat allowed small pets, and although I've never been one for pets, it seemed practical to keep a few rabbits around. They're cheap to feed and they breed quickly – so I would have a steady supply of meat without having to resort to the highly suspicious activity of bringing in regular carcasses (I ate meat regularly before my arrest, but ponies were neither my most often-consumed meat nor even my favorite). If anybody asked about my 'hobby' of rabbit breeding, I could say I was using it as a minor source of side income selling them as pets. Easy and practical. That's my lesson for tonight, everypony – plan ahead.
Did I say "later this week?" I meant... I don't even know. He references it at the beginning of the next chapter. I'll post the side story after I post that.