Keeping with tradition, after a prolonged period of irresponsibility, I have moved in with my mom.

All my relatives do the same before the age of 30 at least once with their respective parents, because we tend to lead miserable lives built around getting loaded when the chips are down, and forget to make rent payments, or pay bills, etc.

The exception being the females, who occasionally get pregnant and, thusly, are fired from their occupations by dinosaur employers.

In the end, it all amounts to months (or years, in some cases) of cohabitating with people who kicked you out as a teenager for misconduct and tomfoolery, and generally leads to either a conitinued loathing of a parental figure, or the healing of old wounds.

In my particular case, it's really neither. My mom kicked me out when I was 17 (a full decade, and the circle is complete) for being a dopefiend (as in drugs, not weed) and a loon (a natural result of drug use). Now we get on as if nothing had ever happened, but she finds fault with some of the peculiarities I picked up in the real world (not bathing regularly, chainsmoking, foul language that includes racial epithets and a variety of perjoratives), and the fact that I won't return to school until the next fall semester - which has been put off for who-the-hell-knows how long, seeing as I say that I'll go every year since I was 20.

Other than that, every thing is, frankly, "peachy."

Some have said "Where will you take girls?"

Simple: I don't "get" girls, and haven't for quite some time. Originally, I only wanted to get laid as a means of validation, but since then, I have found other ways of placating my egotistical nature.

The only detraction of living at home again is that her house is small and cramped, and there's nowhere to go to be alone. Having a quiet thought is extraordinarily difficult, and masturbation is out of the question. Too many dogs, you see.

But, everything aside, it's good to be back...for now.

are you reaching out