Traveling across the country is a strange thing. After many hours of driving and counting corn (I’m at 100000000 so far by the way) you feel as though you must be on the cusp of the west coast. Wrong! It’s like the further you get the longer the country becomes, it stretches to prevent our pilgrimage out west.

Our hopes are high for the west coast, I in particular haven’t felt like anywhere I’ve been in a very long time has been my home. The word “home” doesn’t even feel like it has any meaning for me. I love my family and people around me but the word feels like it requires some geographical association with it and that’s something I’ve never really had.

I think the west coast will be a home, a proper home that ill feel physically attached to and not just because of a few select people I choose to associate with. I better get back to counting I think I missed some corn. Cheers!

My freelance wok will be back to normal after the 22nd! FYI

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