But home is nowhere.

I'll be going to bed in my bedroom at my parents' house tonight.

First of all, this is not my bedroom. My bedroom that I grew up in is now just a memory that has turned into my brother's fucking football-locker-room-esque bedroom. Totally repainted and re-furnished. That's not my room anymore. I do not call this place home. I call this place visiting my parents.

Memories of my bedroom include many nights playing Final Fantasy games on Playstation, playing Nintendo, etc. My bed was a full size bed that fit awkwardly in my room. If people wanted to hang out in there, it was usually necessary to sit on the bed. My room was too small for it. Whatever. It's not my room anymore.

My current bedroom at my parents' house is my brother's old, smaller bedroom. Sure, I got to pick the carpet and the paint. Whoopdeedoo. Awesome. The bed is not my bed I grew up in. Small, uncomfortable twin size bed acquired for free somewhere. I don't think I've slept a solid night of sleep in this bed since it was put in that room. Granted, many of these nights were pass-out-wasted nights, but come on. This isn't my home anymore. This is me visiting my parents. The room is small, the bed is small. I intentionally left out any technology... there is no TV, no computer. I didn't want distracted when I visit. I don't want to sit in "my" room all day. Fuck that.

So what is home to me now?

I've lived in the same house in Greensburg for three years, and after I graduate on May 15th, I will no longer be a student at Seton Hill University. What does that mean? That means when our lease runs out on August 1st, I will have to move out of said house. Now there are rumors that I do not necessarily have to be a student to live there and only two residents do, but that is $400 a month going to rent. This is the big moral dilemma... it really is a simple question...

Move back in with my parents or continue to pay rent at The CandyCane?

It's a simple question but at the same time it's so much more. Moving back in with my parents totally screws up any mental stability to me. As mentioned before. I've lived at the CandyCane, my Greensburg residence, for three years. It took a nice chunk of these three years to actually call this house home. The first year, or longer, was rough. I lived with kids who loved to party, and I didn't party, I didn't drink. It wasn't my scene, and when I would come home from work and there was a party, I would grab my clothes/laptop/etc. and get the fuck out. I wanted nothing to do with that. So at that point, the house was just a temporary place to stay during school.

Over time, shit changed, roommates changed, and I became an alcoholic. When things calmed down, I spent enough time there to really get comfortable, and it really kills me to just let it go. Different aspects of it really are bittersweet.

So many weekends spent with so many good friends just simply sitting around the living room drinking. So many weekends doing the same thing as the weekend before and the weekend after, but we have always had fun and never really needed anything else. That is what is the most important to me.

And oh, the fucking basement. The practice space for The Hormones. The practice space for Suckerpunch. This is where I do my work, this is my life, this is what I love. And G20 the Band and all of the times that we got drunk and decided to go down in the basement and make some noise. My music nest can't disappear.

And the fact that this house is staying in my circle of friends means the world to me. I'd hate to disappear from that. I love my friends. Who knows what will happen when half of the people move home or move away and never come back to Greensburg. There is nothing redeemable about Greensburg. It is what we make it. Friends are so important. Fuck money.

There is that scene in Garden State when Natalie Portman and Zach Braff are in the pool and they talk about the whole notion of "home" and I think Zach Braff totally nails it... skip to 1:08 and listen (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2MnizbYLYGw). It's so true, and I think it totally captures what I feel right now.

Bottom line? I don't feel home here anymore. I am a visitor. Moving in here will cause a shit-ton of anxiety that I really don't want or need right now, but saving the money would be so monumental at this point. I get anxious when i am at this house fr more than a few hours and there is nothing to do. I feel claustrophobic. And what kills me the most is that money is basically the most important determining factor in it all.

Time will tell what happens, and I'm sure whatever happens will happen for a reason. I just have way too many important decisions to make at this point, and like I said, none of these decisions are cut and dry. They conflict with my beliefs and morals. We'll see.

So what am I going to do? I don't fucking know. HA.

Today I was interviewed by an FBI special agent investigator.

My break line also went in my car.

I saw a dude that resembled Joe Strummer at Panera. I wish he was still alive.

I painted a sweet mural.

My band is practicing.

What is next?

Back to the days of nothing to do.

Sometimes I wish Joe knew how to play at least one instrument.

I haven't touched this thing since June. I want to get back into it, and I think the perfect thing to coax me into it is The FEST 8. I'll be leaving Thursday morning for one of the best adventures of my life. We'll see how much I document it. It's like touring, but not touring.

I need to chill the fuck out.

A few days ago, I learned a new pet peeve of mine.

I hate being in a room with new people and not being introduced. Especially when your friend brought you into the room and he is the link between the strangers and yourself. Just say something.

I've had an on-going fear for the last couple years that my hairline is receding and my hair is falling out/thinning. I think if anything even remotely makes me question this, then it has to be happening slowly over time.