I remember the feeling of being in that last 30 minutes of getting back home from a long car ride. A sense of relief of not being stuck in the car any longer.
I don't have a home. I don't feel I've had a home since I was 12. Yes, I have a place to live. My parents didn't kick me out of the house out of the house to fend against a cruel world when I was in middle school. I guess it's this vague feeling of being out of place wherever I am.
Today I wonder if New York is my home. I know I will do LA soon. I doubt that will feel like home either. I don't feel support here. I don't have people to call at 2am to talk about random things that make no sense.
I think this is a healthy place to be. It's a turn on the road. Once I went insane after a break-up and drove to the Grand Canyon from Charlottesville, VA. I did in just a couple days. I realized halfway there I was parallel to old Route 66. I felt like I supposed to be on that road but it turned out to be a pain in the ass with quaint signage. 'Nuf said.