a home is something i didn't feel i had since i guess the end of my junior year in high school, when i started "pushing my friends away," as my dad says. the feeling extended itself and got worse once i graduated, and i was desperate for friends for years afterward. but at least i had my license. i guess finally getting my license (i had failed one or two times, but passed senior spring), changed me into mr. nomadic, for my "home" eventually became a jimmy.

sure, i had apartments, but i had no reason to stay in the same area. and it was kind of excitin', living practically on the road. lucky i brought a can opener!

i trapped myself in a home for head-injured "retards" (you can read all about it here), but now i just wish the head honcho could see me doing what he vowed i'd never do again. living on the road and eating straight from the can! whoo-hoo!

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