Camping out on my couch.

Its Friday, February second at 12:15 am. With Simon next to me, Im sitting in my living room, listening to the winter rain smack a window, on what also happens to be my bed, my couch. Since Ive gotten back from Dubai on Jan 4, this has been my bedroom.

I have owned this house over three years now, this marks the third room in the place I have called bedroom. While I was remodelling my "real" bedroom, I called the dining room the "place where the magic happens." This was waaaayyyy back when November of '03 and lasted for 8 months. I then occupied the masterpiece for a little over a year and a half, where I remained until I rented the place out to Ryan upon moving to Dubai.

Here I am again. I think about the person I was during each phase. The dining room me was unbridled, unjustified, unmeasruable, and certainly unwarranted. I had all the driving force but no direction. I tried to eat the elephant 3 bites at a time. This got me so far, but was not sustainable in the long run.

My days in the "master suite" were filled with equal parts accomplishment, uncertainty, and a little fear. I was proud of what I had done in the room, although it almost cost me my left pinky finger. The night the Red Sox beat the Yankees in the ALCS I tore through my finger with an electric mitre saw.

Theres a big difference here on the couch. The house, although not perfect, is stable, I have had the greatest of fortune in travilling overseas for the first time in my life.

Im pushing 30. I was 26 when it started. I think about what was important to me then, and now. As I'm about to turn 30, what the hell is next?

So Im camping out. Unemployed, but with plans. Plans to use the couch as a launching pad rather than a cot.

This house will always be symolic, as well defined as those all too short lived "college years." These will be the "house years" or hopefully something more creative. The cast is well defined too.