Playing Bob The Builder

Four tall cans of budweiser, a pack of marlboro lights, one chicken and bacon sandwich, a pack of pepperoni and proschuito, a pack of sliced cheese, sliced bread and two cups of tea. Lots of notes, journal articles analyzing the area I was researching, some more books and a feeling of restlessness. I called this an essay night.

I had my window cracked, because I was smoking and my radiator was on, I was still freezing so I wrapped my scarf around my neck and wore one of my gloves cause I couldn't find the second one in the mess of my desk. Now that the 2000 words are out of the way I am going to rumble on a little bit and then I'm off to sleep as it's 3:30 in the morning and I'm hella tired.

So, you know how I've been going on and on and on about this back and forth from England to Greece, from University to back home and from my messed up little dorm room with the shitty bed to my spacious home room with the cat hair decorated bed courtesy of my cat Chester?

Well, when I went back for Christmas I felt lost. For the first couple of days I was waking up confused with no idea where I was. My mother would wake up to go to work with my brother and then there I was, all alone in the house as I was during high-school years when my brother was in Italy and my mother at work. But this time it felt weird as fuck. I had no idea where to sit, no idea what to drink and what to do. Long story short it took me a couple of days to get used to the environment and think “meh yeah that's home” especially when we were putting the tree up. My mother was sitting on the couch taking sips from a glass of whiskey while me and my brother were setting up the Christmas spirit and the cats were chasing the light the Christmas balls were reflecting on the floor. All Christmas lame ass jokes that only we would laugh at and stories from work from my brother and mother .

Then I met up with my friends and that enhanced the feeling of home. We went out, we got drunk, we played a show, it was amazing. We got fucked up on whiskey and beer, I ended up with 2 scars on my head and one on my chest from what we speculate came from broken glass and my best friend with a cut on his chin. We hit rock bottom and we woke up with the haziest of memories. In fact not remembering a thing after some point. We came up with more lame jokes. I had some interviews, gathered information, wrote 3 drafts for the 3 articles I had to write over Christmas and before I knew it, I had to leave again.

I came back in the U.K and that felt weirder than the weirdest shit you can ever imagine. Again it took me a couple of days and then BAM I felt the exact same way I felt after the two days I was home. I was back in my old ways. 10 minutes walk to the coffee shop in town, reading, aimless walking and smoking around town staring at windows of the shops and noticing the faces of the old people.

Now you might wonder, who gives a fuck and where the fuck are you going with this? So, since you were nice enough to ask I'm going to tell you. I came to a realization that it's both sad and awesome. No place feels like home anymore. I know I'll sound like a pseudo-romantic washed up cliché piece of shit, but I think that I find home in the faces of my family and friends. It's the way they look at you, the way they smile at you when you drink coffee with them at 6 in the morning and you're up just to see them fresh and happy before they go and come back home tired and worn out. The way they lie to you telling you it's all okay when it's not, the way they nag you, the way they support you, the way they get aggressive on you when you fuck up, the way, they right you up when you stray, sometimes the way they make you shut up when you run your mouth like an idiot. That's home to me folks.

No buildings, no rooms...I'm not going to go as far as saying “no bed” cause I do miss my bed. Hell home to me is the way my cat meows when he's hungry. The way he hides scared when he hears a sudden noise. All these things that make me feel safe and accepted for who I am even when I talk the shittiest of shit or even when I run my mouth saying jokes and punch lines that I only find funny.

So there you go folks, go and build your own home now.