I failed to find a job in Portland, I lost my cushy spot, and I’ve picked up life at home right where I left off when I was 18. It’s pretty much the same, except that now if I want to sneak dad’s beers after he falls asleep it happens shortly after Jeopardy. Oh yeah, and my bedroom is also a storage closet.
If you stare at that poster over the head of my bed for long enough you’ll look a lot like a stoned sixteen-year-old me. There’s also a nice watercolor print that Mom put up next to my Superbowl XXXI Packer’s poster when Grandma came and stayed here 3 years ago.
There’s no place like home.







