Some website said I've been alive for more than seven thousands days already. Yikes. What I really want to know is how many of those I've spent on the couch watching football. Success if different for all of us I guess.
Sometimes when I'm done with school but waiting to go to work I go to my parent's house and walk around, watch T.V., eat, maybe even take a shower. It's so strange to be in that house alone now. It used to feel like home. Now home is somewhere else, and it's not my new house. It's not in my old car, or sitting in a class I hate. It's not Gilbert, it's not Tempe, it's not my grandparent's house or my aunt's house or any friend's house. It's difficult to live with a constant feeling of uneasiness, like you're never where you're supposed to be. It makes it harder for me to be rational. Harder to be sober. Harder to write. Harder to read. Harder to just simply sit somewhere and enjoy myself. Maybe another seven thousand days and I'll find a new place to call home. Just somewhere I can sit.
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