Where the Heart Is

Well, I'm having a hell of a week. It's amazing how much time you've got when no regularly scheduled programming interrupts your life. In a rush to move on and out of LA and to re-insert myself into San Diego, I tried to see as many people as possible, to do as much as possible, and to get things cleaned up as fast as possible. Snowboarding, a Christmas party, an old fashioned sleepover, and one hasty move out later, I'm back and already arguing with my mom. Maybe moving back home wasn't such a great idea. She thinks I don't care about my health because I don't eat lunch. I think she's overbearing and motherly. After all, what have I been doing for the past few years? Slowly dying due to lack of lunch? Hardly.

You know Jack Kerouac often spent down time at his mother's house? In-between cross country drives and raising general ruckus, he would regularly take extended stays with her in New York (or later, Florida). I wonder if they clashed over his habit of staying up late and never rising before noon. Did they fight over when he ate or which bathrooms he chose to use? How about this one: Did they have issues with him falling asleep on the couch as the TV droned on? Or how bad staring at a computer screen all day would be for his eyes? I bet they did. No wonder he was on the road so damn much.