The Curse of Being First

"I'm thinking of moving to Philly." I say casually. "Why??" My sister asks. "It's the only other place I have any experience with." "Experience for what??" she asks incredulously. "Living." She rolls her eyes. "We went to Hershey Park a handful of times. That's not a reason to live somewhere." "It is if I say it is" I say defensively. "You're not going to be here for anything" she says. "What are you talking about?, I ask, Philly's only two hours away." "Exactly, she exclaims, two hours. How are you going to be around for things?" "Um...drive?" "You're not going to drive here for everything Mar-li, and we're certaintly not driving to Philly every five minutes!" Says the person who's trekked to Philly for cheesestakes (insert eyeroll here). And there you have it folks. My life in a nutshell. If I want to do it, there are at least a thousand reasons for me not to. For example; My cousin moved to Florida several years ago. You know what they had to say about it? Congradulations and safe travels. But when I moved to San Francisco? "Oh it's too far." "Why would you move to California?" "It took you three weeks to decide to move to California, how long will it take you to decide to come home?" That particular guilt trip came courtesy of my sister. It's always been this way; Mar-li's thinking about doing something? SOUND THE ALARM! Everyone else does anything, anything at all? God speed. Why you ask? ::Sigh:: because I'm the first born. I'm the eldest grandchild and the elder sister, in other wordsm the burnt pancake child. The one they try everything out on and the one whose life they feel the need to micromanage, even at damn near 40. Also, I have it on good authority that everything is my fault. Always. I went to Vegas with two of my cousins several years ago. One night one of them got a little drunk; and by "a little drunk" I mean Bellagio security found him passed out under a slot machine. They called my other cousin because that was the most recent call in his log. If they had called his mother, my grandmother, or any of our parents for that manor, I'd be dead now. Why? Because it would've been my fault. Even though I went back to my hotel at least an hour before they found him. Now word on the street is the youngest of us wants to flit off to Texas. Texas! Can you imagine? Anyone giving her a hard time about wanting to move? Anyone bothering her about not being around for family events? Nope and nope. (insert eye roll here).