Prewrite+3

Prewrite Three At First Avenue, by myself, strength is at the heart of it all. Without the pressures and strain of everyday life, First Avenue seems far away from here. But this place is no resort, no beauty resides in the residence; in contrast, this place was a cliff for my family, the very force that pushed us to the brink that couldn't push us off. First Avenue was a place for my family to crash after a rocky divorce. I remember working on this dilapidated house for hours on end, which seemed rather futile. I knew that we wouldn't live here long. I did not feel welcomed at this house. I did not feel happy, content, or peaceful. Why would I work for something that I despised so much? It was because I had nothing else to do but work. I couldn't sit down and face the fact that my parents had finally gone their separate ways. So I worked, toiled on this place; I wouldn't sit down in my misery. At least when I worked I had something to think about. It reminds me of the long, wearing distance runs we will embark on in the cross country season. The runner cannot think of his pain and inconvenience, but he must picture the finish line, and put one foot in front of the other. How do you keep going through these rough patches. You channel the pain. You take the anger, frustration, and pity and release it upon the very thing that cannot change and somehow, it changes. Suddenly, it doesn't matter that I am on a couch instead of in a comfortable bedroom, and I can sleep.